


Seasons in the Sun

by Sans_Souci



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Community: hobbit_kink, Cultural Differences, Dwarf Culture, Eloping, F/M, Gen, Hobbit Culture, M/M, Other, Pre-Hobbit, Prompt Fill, Running Away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 22:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 78,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sans_Souci/pseuds/Sans_Souci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Bilbo Baggins meets Thorin Oakenshield and his sister-sons when they visit the Shire for work. Somehow, being a respectable hobbit isn't so important after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer in the Shire

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3138.html?thread=4476738#t4476738
> 
> _When Bilbo was...perhaps 32, just coming up to his coming of age at 33, a wandering blacksmith named Thorin set up in Hobbiton for a few months, and he and Bilbo had a fling. When Bilbo's parents found out Bungo forbade the relationship from continuing, and after a blazing row between Bilbo and his father, Bilbo and Thorin left the Shire together._  
>  _Life on the road pre-canon with penniless-blacksmith!Thorin and young!Bilbo._  
>  _Bonus points for:_  
>  _\- Doing the Middle Earth equivalent of running off to Vegas/Gretna Green and getting married._  
>  _\- Thorin not having told Bilbo he was a king until they reach the Blue Mountains._  
>  _\- Fili and Kili (probably young teenagers at this point) taking an instant shine to 'Uncle Bilbo'._  
>  _\- How does this affect the quest?_  
>  _\- Bilbo getting mistaken for a dwarf woman at least once by humans in the villages they pass through._  
>  _\- Bilbo going native a little (learning Khuzdul, picking up a trade to help make ends meet, dwarvish dress...anything you like, really), while still remaining essentially hobbity._
> 
> Still editing each part *sob* But I have help now~ Steerpike13713 has kindly volunteered to beta-read.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“Take gran’s clock to the smith then."_

When Bilbo Baggins was asked by his parents to run an errand for him that summer morning, he had no idea what lay in store for him. His father might have reconsidered sending Bilbo out with the broken clock when he heard that a dwarrow smith had set up shop in the Shire for the season.

To set the record straight, it was probably the fault of the Sackville-Bagginses. His cousin Otho had been more than just a little merry that evening when he had tripped over the fire irons and knocked the clock off the mantelpiece after the Bagginses’ annual family dinner party and a lot of good wine and ale. But of course, Bungo and Belladonna had said that it was a small matter. Nothing to be worried about.

Thank goodness family dinners were only once a year, Bilbo thought. Bungo and Belladonna were never very fond of the Sackville-Bagginses and that particular branch had never been very fond of Bilbo’s family. They were, however, rather keen on getting their hands on the Bagginses’ family fortune and Bungo was too kind to cut his own kin off completely.

The metal and glass-fronted clock had belonged to Bilbo's grandmother Laura Grubb and the Bagginses were quite fond of it, thank you very much. Not well-versed in clockwork or metalwork, the hobbits usually had to take those items to a trade fair to be mended. Or wait for a blacksmith to come by and set up his smithy in the shallow, sheltered hole set aside for such purposes.

Everyone knew that dwarves were the best craftsmen for fiddly things like clocks and Bilbo set out early that morning to try his luck for the crowd at the smithy was sure to be long after two seasons without a blacksmith in the Shire. It was a fine day and the young hobbit did not mind the exercise as he went down the road that led from Hobbiton to Bywater--the smithy was located just outside the small town, on the road to Bree-land where travellers and market-goers would pass.

There was a short queue already formed up when he got there with the clock wrapped in a towel. It gave him some time to examine the newcomers and sate his curiosity.

As a young hobbit approaching his coming of age, Bilbo had never travelled beyond the boundaries of the Shire. His only source of information was his mother's relations, awing him with their tales of life on the road. The Tookish side of him--the side of the family with the wandering feet--sometimes itched for a chance to see the world outside the homely confines of the villages and paths that he knew so well. Not that he would forget about his home after all his adventures, he thought conscientiously. He was a Baggins of Bag End after all.

But what happened that summer would turn his world upside down, not that he had a clue about what lay in store for him that fine summer’s morning.

Bilbo’s first impressions of the dwarrow race were of a pair of bright grins and hairless faces that beamed at him from behind a bench loaded with pots, belt-buckles and miscellaneous items to be mended.

"Hello!" the dark haired dwarf said enthusiastically. He was slightly taller than Bilbo, with untidy hair all the way down past his chin.

"Good morning," Bilbo said, automatically defaulting to the manners his parents had taught him. He had never met dwarves before and he was pleased that they seemed to be a merry folk.

"Yes, it's a very fine morning. What can we do for you, sir?" the other dwarf asked. He was blond and might have been just a little older than the first for he sported the beginnings of a fine downy stubble on his chin.

"I brought a clock to be fixed. If you fix clocks, I mean." Bilbo noticed that the forge and anvil behind them was manned by a larger dwarf--the actual blacksmith. The younger dwarves were probably the apprentices.

“Let’s have a look at it,” the first dwarf piped up. “No promises, but we can try.”

"Oho, that's a beauty, that is," the blond dwarf remarked as he uncovered the clock and examined it. "Some good work there. Did an oliphant fall on it?"

"Close," Bilbo said, a smile tugging on his lips as he thought of his cousin as a lumbering oliphant. "Can it be mended?"

"Of course--it'll be good as new by this afternoon."

Then they fell into some good-natured haggling over the price for the work, because it was the thing to do even though hobbits were generally not the miserly sort. Bilbo put down a deposit and set his mark down on the tally sheet--the dwarf lads promised that he could collect it soon after lunch. 

Feeling satisfied with his morning errand, Bilbo returned home for elevenses and examined the map he had just received as a gift from his Took cousins. _Where did the dwarves come from? They lived in the mountains to the east, did they not?_

Such thoughts occupied his mind until his mother called him for lunch. Hobbits never said no to seconds, especially when there was treacle tart for pudding, and it was a very content hobbit that ambled his way down to the smithy that afternoon with his new pipe in his hand.

The pair of young dwarves was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he was confronted by a pair of pale blue eyes and a barely concealed scowl behind a dark beard and a shock of shaggy hair. The blacksmith was tall too--taller than the younger dwarves and if Bilbo had any doubts that they were not full adults, they were banished as he stared up at those piercing eyes--

“Well?” the dwarf demanded. “Are you collecting or do you have something that wants mending?”

Bilbo opened his mouth. And coughed as Old Toby fumes went down the wrong pipe. It took a while for him to recover and the blacksmith glared at poor Bilbo throughout his predicament.

“C-collecting, thank you,” Bilbo wheezed, bent over his own feet and wishing that the earth would swallow him up. “My gran’s c-clock. Name of B-baggins.”

The blacksmith--a real dwarven smith--turned to the bench containing a mountain of household goods and brought out the clock carefully. “A good piece--would have been a shame if we couldn’t fix it. The clockwork mechanism we pieced back together and we put in new glass for the broken face.”

And lo, if the clock did not look as good as it did twenty years ago. Bilbo handed over the rest of the payment without argument. And that would have been it for the business was concluded and the fierce-looking blacksmith was turning back to the bench full of mended items.

“Bilbo Baggins,” he blurted out. “I’m Bilbo Baggins, I mean.”

The dwarf looked at him as though he had grown a second head. “Thorin Oakenshield,” he said after a terribly awkward pause.

“Pleased to meet you.” Bilbo’s mouth seemed to have a life of its own all of a sudden. “I’ll be seeing you then.”

What was possessing him that day? Bilbo wondered as he hurried back to Bag End with the mended clock under his arm. He had been so forward! 

But it had been terribly exciting to speak with non-hobbits, Bilbo thought, more than a little thrilled by his brush with the exotic. And they looked like they were well-travelled folk too. Surely, they would know about the lands outside the Shire? And most hobbits were on good terms with the local tradesmen anyhow . . .

A terrible idea was blooming in his head as he went back home.

“Mum, I’ll bring the largest stew pot over to the blacksmith tomorrow,” Bilbo called to his mother as he did the dishes after supper that night. “And your favourite frying pan. The handles could do with replacing.”

“You’re a thoughtful lad,” Bungo Baggins said, nodding approvingly as he smoked his pipe by the fire. The clock had been returned to its place on the mantelpiece and everyone agreed that it had been very well restored.

Bilbo had enough shame left in him to feel guilty. But not too guilty as he mentally sorted out how many items he could bring to the smithy for mending in the next few weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Thorin Oakenshield had been asked what he thought of the Shire when he first set up his smithy there that summer, Fíli and Kíli would have provided the commentary complete with faux-scowling and muttering about soft folk who had never seen hardship or want.

It had been on his mind that morning as the gentlehobbits came by with their pots and pans. Not a sword or mace in the lot. The knives that needed sharpening were kitchen knives and butchers’ cleavers. They were not warriors and looking around him at the Halflings going to market, Thorin envied them their ease and complacency.

He had sent his sister-sons to buy lunch for them all when Mister Bilbo Baggins came by--small, plump and radiating contentment the same way he was producing smoke rings from his pipe.

Thorin thought the hobbit had taken fright from his stern countenance when he doubled over coughing--his nephews always claimed that he was too gruff and scared customers away. They always did seem to have more business with Kíli and Fíli grinning at the customers.

But that particular hobbit was back the next day with some kitchenware that was in need of new handles. Mister Baggins returned to collect his items much later that afternoon, when there were few customers about.

And he was carrying a large basket. “I’ve got some lovely seed cake here, Mister Oakenshield. And it’s almost four o’clock. Why don’t we have some tea?” he asked. The hobbit had probably noticed the battered old kettle that they heated on the forge fire.

Thorin never corrected him about the “Mister Oakenshield” part and it was on the tip of his tongue to claim that he was busy when Fíli and Kíli opened their eyes wide at the mention of cake. They seldom had cake or sweets, but they would not utter a peep if Thorin did not approve of tea at four in the afternoon.

The hobbit had paid up in full and he had no more pressing jobs to do after all . . . So Thorin grudgingly got out the slightly chipped mugs they used for tea and told himself that this was better than seeing his nephews’ faces fall flatter than a failed soufflé when the prospect of cake disappeared.

“I’ve got no fancy teacups or tablecloths here,” Thorin growled.

“I wasn’t expecting any,” Mister Baggins said. But he had brought napkins and fussed about until everyone had large slices of admittedly very tasty seed cake. And then he talked a lot. Kíli and Fíli were more than happy to oblige the hobbit’s questions. _Where had they come from? Was it nice there? Had they always been blacksmiths?_

The lads knew what to leave out after the past year on the road with their uncle. They were wandering smiths, they said glibly through mouthfuls of cake, looking for work to earn enough to build a new home for themselves. They were their uncle’s apprentices, learning the trade and carrying on the family business. 

The unalloyed truth--except for a few pertinent details. If the hobbit was put off by how Kíli and Fíli were chewing their food with their mouths open, he did not show it.

Thorin kept his words to a minimum and saw their visitor out once the cake was gone, signalling to his nephews to get on with the cleaning. 

“What is your purpose here, Mister Baggins?” Thorin asked the hobbit when they were out of earshot of his sister-sons. “Respectable folk in these parts don’t seem inclined to stop by and chat, much less bring cake for tea.”

“You’re the first dwarves I’ve seen,” the hobbit said without guile. “I’ve seen a few Men, but only from a distance.”

Such a sheltered life. But the hobbit’s curiosity was not offensive, Thorin had to admit--just terribly innocent.

“Will you have more questions or more work for us tomorrow then?” Thorin asked sharply.

“Perhaps more questions and cake, Mister Oakenshield.” And if that had not been a rather forward wink from the hobbit, Thorin did not know what it was.

He put it down to frivolous hobbits and their carefree ways.

Thorin had no idea why he had the kettle on around teatime the next day. Or he claimed he did not know why.

Bilbo came by with an almond cake and his favourite blend of tea after collecting a belt buckle. And the day after next too. Fíli and Kíli started to look forwards to four o’clock in the afternoon. Thorin learned to have tea when business abated later in the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure your uncle won’t mind?” Bilbo asked as he shuffled his papers, books and quills nervously. The younger dwarves had expressed an interest in what he was reading when they saw him perched by the bridge with a book in hand. It turned out that they were strangers to the written form of Common Speech.

“Oh no, he’s dead keen on education, he is,” Fíli reassured him. They were seated comfortably on chairs crafted from barrel-ends in the small forge and using the workbench as a makeshift table. “He’s just so busy with work that he doesn’t have the time to make sure we practice reading and writing.” 

“He’ll be cross with us if we don’t learn how to write and read Common properly after so long on the road,” Kíli added. “But he won’t be _that_ surprised ‘cause we’re thicker than two planks of wood most of the time.”

“He’s joking.” Fíli was quick to say when Bilbo’s eyebrows went up at this. “Our uncle’s got . . . very high expectations. And we’re not that thick. Just not used to book-learning, is all.”

True to their words, Thorin merely grunted in a noncommittal manner when he came in and saw Bilbo teaching the younger dwarves to read by the light of tallow candles and the banked embers of the forge.

“If they’re bothering you, Mister Baggins, just tell them to push off.”

“It’s no bother,” Bilbo said hurriedly. “They’re learning very quickly.”

Fíli and Kíli grinned at the praise, then ducked their heads back down as their uncle’s stern gaze swept over them. “That remains to be seen. I’ll thrash the pair of them for wasting your time if they don’t learn.”

Only Fíli and Kíli’s strong hands on both his elbows prevented Bilbo from jumping up there and then.

“Well I never!” Bilbo exclaimed when Thorin left them and his nephew’s fingers finally loosened their grip on him.

“Mister Bilbo, our uncle’s not a cruel dwarf,” Fíli said quietly. “He doesn’t mean it that way. And he won’t punish us unless we deserve it.”

“It’s been hard for him, having to drag us along and find work at the same time. But he always makes sure we have enough to eat and a roof over our heads. The last time he thrashed us was _months_ ago too,” Kíli said defensively.

“Because we botched that job up royally and the horse was almost lamed,” his brother added. “Could have cost a few other lives too. So we deserved it.” 

“You’re good lads,” Bilbo said at last. “I’m just not used to all this talk about beating faunt--er, younglings up.”

“He beats us when we train anyway. Not _that_ way,” Fíli said when it looked like Bilbo was about explode again. “We get knocked about while sparring with each other too. Thorin always checks for injuries and makes sure we get ointment for bruises.”

“He draws a line at kissing it better though,” Kíli joked and the tension lightened.

They were young dwarves, he gathered. Just adolescents by Bilbo’s reckoning, but required to grow up relatively fast on the road with their kinsman. Their father was deceased and their mother had entrusted their training and apprenticeship to her brother, as was custom. They even trained with various weapons to protect themselves in the wild. But it was part of their culture after all--and it was rather exciting and foreign to hobbits.

Bilbo chalked up Thorin’s attitude to his nephews’ education under “more things he did not understand about dwarves”. He noticed that Thorin always freed his nephews from work or weapons training at least once a week so that they could practice reading and writing though. And Bilbo did not need to keep trying to find items that needed mending to have an excuse to drop by, so it was a satisfactory arrangement all around.

At best, the hobbits of the Shire would put it down to the strangeness of Bilbo Baggins, who was already known to be a little more eccentric than his fellows. At worst, Lobelia Bracegirdle would have plenty of gossip to spread around about Bilbo Baggins socialising with dwarven blacksmiths.

Fortunately, Bilbo did not give a fig about what other people said about him. The young seldom cared about respectability and young hobbits were not very different. The son of Belladonna Took merely carried it one step further.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Regular work and regular meals--Thorin Oakenshield would be the first to admit that he was surprised by how easily they had settled into life in the Shire.

He had an agreement with the owner of the Green Dragon. They would fix the shutters, the hinges and other necessary repairs around the public house in return for supper every night--usually a hearty stew or roast with bread or potatoes. There was even coin for ale from the work that the hobbits brought in.

And they had a very regular visitor too.

Bilbo Baggins was a bottomless well of insatiable curiosity, coming around with maps and books about places outside the Shire and asking if they had been to the trade fairs at Bree or someplace further east. The hobbit had also asked if he could watch them spar. Thorin could not find a reason to refuse him and his nephews were keen to show off in front of their new friend.

There was no other word for it. Not for Fíli and Kíli who had never been in one place long enough to make friends who were not dwarves and related to them by blood. Not the sort of friend who brought cake over for tea and taught them their letters. 

Thorin allowed it because he was ashamed to have neglected a part of his sister-sons’ education in their first foray into the world. They had learned Khuzdul and Iglishmêk at their mother’s knee as it was traditional. The learning of Common Speech for trade and communication with the other races fell to him, as their guardian and closest kin.

If he had been the simple blacksmith he pretended to be, writing would never have been an issue, but their future roles required more than just a rudimentary grasp of common map symbols.

So he was quietly grateful to Bilbo Baggins even though the hobbit was too soft by half and . . . and really more helpful that he should be to total strangers.

When Mister Baggins could find no more pots or small items to mend, Thorin had been called to the place called Bag End because he was the closest thing to an expert in plumbing in the Shire. The dwarf had not been past the wooden doors of a hobbit-hole before and he examined its construction critically. He grudgingly admitted to himself that it would last with some repairs every few years.

Inside was a jumble of bric-a-brac and wooden furniture that was just high enough for a dwarf. And there were the adult hobbits--Bilbo’s parents. Mister Bungo Baggins was a portly hobbit--going a little grey at the temples--and Thorin could see something of him in his son. But it was clear that Bilbo had inherited most of his unruly light brown curls and finer features from his mother.

It was Mistress Baggins who welcomed in him in. She even smiled at his nephews, who looked about them with wide eyes even as they wiped their boots conscientiously on the mat. Bilbo had forewarned them about the shoe-less ways of hobbits and how much they liked clean floors.

Bag End was a terribly comfortable little den. The hallway just inside the door was gleaming and smelt of beeswax. Like the clock that had been brought to him for repair, the furnishings were of good make. With care, they would last the Bagginses for a good while yet.

The bathroom they had been called to fix was faintly redolent of lavender and expertly tiled. It was a relatively straightforward job--a section of piping had to be replaced and some of the couplings had to be tightened. Bilbo's parents did not hang about the door to see if they were stealing the soap--it was Bilbo himself who kept popping his head in and asking if they needed any help. Thorin waved him away irritably and had the new pipe cut and fitted within the hour.

They were even offered tea after their work. Fíli and Kíli were on their best behaviour--probably because Mistress Baggins had laid on a most impressive spread. Egg and cress sandwiches, cucumber and ham pate sandwiches, butter cake, ginger biscuits and fresh scones. His normally rambunctious nephews were sipping tea and making sandwiches disappear as though by magic, but they were not being gluttonous. They were merely eating with the vigour of young dwarves confronted with more food than they had seen in a good while.

Thorn would have apologised for them, except Mistress Baggins kept bringing out more plates of sandwiches and cake while clucking over their young appetites. Bilbo was on hand to top up their tea and they never saw the bottoms of their cups. Perhaps the hobbit had noticed how much fuel was required for dwarven metabolism.

Or hobbits just ate a lot. Bilbo and his parents were also tucking in with a will. If this was tea, Thorin wondered what dinner was like.

Bungo Baggins made some polite conversation about the state of the pipes. He had designed and built Bag End for his wife when they had been married and Thorin managed to respond in a civil manner about technical things because it was a sturdy little dwelling, when all was said and done, and a fine gift for a bride. 

It had been a while since he had a conversation like that--small talk had never been his forte.

His sister-sons slowed down and actually stopped before the last biscuits were consumed--which was a miracle in itself. It was time to go too, if Thorin judged the look in Baggins Senior’s eyes correctly. Kíli and Fíli would be at Mistress Baggin's service for the rest of their lives by the way they kept bowing to her. The lady hobbit seemed to find it charming and gave them the rest of the cake to take back, thereby cementing their impression of her as a minor goddess.

"Mum was a bit of an adventurer in her youth," Bilbo said as he walked with them out of Bag End. "I dare say she's met one or two dwarves before."

“Not like the rest of the folk hereabouts then,” Thorin remarked. He could not help it--he had soaked in the overall mood of contentment for long enough.

“Not unless they’re Tooks. My mother’s family are adventurous but mostly respectable folk.” Bilbo did not appear offended. “My cousins went out rambling when they passed their coming of age. They were the ones who gave me the maps.”

“But it’s not surprising if they stayed put--this is a nice place,” Kíli piped up. He looked nervously at Thorin, knowing his uncle’s views on the softness of hobbits.

It was Thorin’s first instinct to glare at him, but he recognised the wistfulness in his nephew’s voice. They did not have a safe and comfortable place to call home. 

They had been comfortable in Erebor--much too comfortable and complacent.

“Will you be staying on after summer?” Bilbo asked when they reached the road that lead to Bywater.

“Depends on how much business we’ve got,” Thorin said. He had not planned to stay past the end of the season, but he could reconsider their prospects now.

Bilbo’s sunny smile matched Kíli and Fíli’s as they waved good bye before setting off down the road.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“They seemed decent enough,” Belladonna remarked when Bilbo came back in and helped her to wipe the dishes dry. “And it was a kind thing to invite them for tea.”

“’Twas already a kind thing when Bilbo took it on himself to teach those lads how to read and write,” Bungo said, putting up his feet on his favourite footstool. “Mind you, people already thought we were odd for encouraging literacy in the gardener’s children.”

“Yes, dear, and did we care what people said about that then?” Belladonna asked.

“No, my dear, we did not.” Bungo looked at his wife fondly, no doubt remembering their rather wild courtship. Bilbo still heard bits of it being bandied about by the people of Hobbiton.

 _People_ meant the good folk of the Shire--all the respectable hobbits. Bilbo suspected that his mother cared about the opinions of _people_ a lot less than his father did. She had been a queer one, by all accounts, going where no hobbit feet had trodden on before. Consorting with wizards and who knew what else! It had been a miracle that she had settled down with steady old Bungo Baggins, everyone said. 

Although what some of them really meant was that it was a miracle that a hobbit as respectable as Bungo would have someone as strange as Belladonna to wife, even though she was a daughter of the Old Took. Bilbo’s mother had very narrowly escaped being labelled as disreputable. The Took side, however, thought that the only remarkable thing in Bungo’s life was his successful wooing of Belladonna.

Consorting with dwarves sounded like something Belladonna would do in her younger days, so Bilbo took heart from that and chose some of the books from his youth that Kíli and Fíli might like to read for the next time he visited. If Bilbo anticipated this more than he should because of the presence of the lads’ stern guardian, it only showed in the way he groomed himself carefully before setting out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Fall in the Shire

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As it turned out, Thorin and his sister sons stayed in the Shire all the way through that long, warm summer and well into the autumn, for Sandyman the miller had hired them to repair the broken axle in his mill and word spread that they could do more than just mend pots and shoe ponies. They were inundated with requests ranging from repairing music boxes, replacing old hinges and the million and one small but vital repairs that needed seeing to before winter blew in. 

There was good money in it and the milder climate of the Shire had been most tempting. While hobbits were handy with woodcarving and wooden crafts, nothing beat dwarven locks and hinges, so they were not in direct competition with the carpenters of the Shire and mostly tolerated. 

Things got slightly better after they had done that job in Bag End. Some of the Bagginses’ respectability had apparently rubbed off on them and the hobbits were slightly more willing to let them into their homes to repair their stovepipes and iron fenders. Business was so good that Thorin sometimes allowed himself and his sister sons have a drink in the public house after a long day’s work and listened for the news of the road brought in by traders. The lads probably deserved some reward for following him and learning the trade while being trained for battle.

It was during one of these training sessions that they were surprised by a visitor. Thorin realised that they were not alone when Kíli’s eyes flicked over his shoulder and focused on something other than his battle-axe.

The stealth of hobbits was surprising for such a peaceful race. Thorin turned irritably to the source of this interruption and was not at all surprised that their visitor was Bilbo Baggins, the only hobbit who would come a-calling at past eight in the evening.

Bilbo proffered an envelope before Thorin could say anything. “For you and your nephews. I hope you’ll all come.”

His sister sons hopped about impatiently as he opened the envelope and drew out a thick, gold-edged card.

“ _You are cordially invited to the birthday party of Bilbo Baggins of Bag End on the twenty-second of September_ ,” Fíli read the card slowly over Thorin’s shoulder. Their grasp of the written form of Common Speech had grown by leaps and bounds--practically literate by Bilbo’s reckoning.

“He’s inviting us to his birthday!” Kíli exclaimed and Thorin could not say no to three pairs of imploring eyes right there and then--it was like being accosted by doe-eyed puppies. He was obviously getting soft, he thought to himself.

There was much talk of Bilbo Baggins’ birthday party amongst the tradesmen and merchants at the pub in the days that followed. A good quantity of wine and ale had made its way to Bag End for the party, along with cheeses, seasonal fruit and cold meats. The local baker was overwhelmed by the order for the cakes and they had to get bread from the bakery in Bywater for the celebrations. Extra tables and tents had been hired to accommodate the guests, who could not all be expected to fit into the close confines of Bag End and had to be hosted at the Party Field.

His sister sons were anticipating it the way they anticipated Durin’s Day celebrations, taking out the invitation card ever so often to admire the gold-edging and the weight of the paper. Needless to say, there had been very few parties for Durin’s folk in the past few years and not many people would invite rag-tag wanderers to their fêtes.

It was a shame, really, how his sister sons had never attended the feasts and celebrations that their station would have merited in the past.

As for the matter of _station_ , Thorin had not realised that Bagginses were influential hobbits. He had known that they were a well-to-do and respectable family in the village of Hobbiton, but they were apparently also some sort of minor gentry in the Shire. 

There were class differences--that had been obvious from the start. The gardeners, millers and farmers being the working class and the wealthy families like the Bagginses and Tooks being the ones who hired them or bought their goods. But there was very little bowing or scraping and the position of Mayor of the Shire was the result of a popular vote. Whereas the Thainship was a military role that had not called for a muster in many years because they had not been at war for a long time. It was all very strange to a dwarf brought up in the Kingdom of Erebor.

Kingless they might be, but the hobbits had grown rich in this peaceful time. Wealth in the Shire was measured by the depth of one’s pantry and the girth of one’s stomach, it seemed. Thorin envied them and despised their unpreparedness all at once. It was better that dwarves kept to dwarves and hobbits kept to themselves as they were wont to do.

He was not, Thorin told himself firmly, making an exception for one particular hobbit who was always in and out of the forge every day and making a nuisance of himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As September wore on and the preparations for the party whipped everyone into a froth of excitement, life continued almost as normally as it usually did for the Bagginses of Bag End. 

Bilbo honestly did not know why such a fuss was being made about him. Logically, he knew that it was because he was Bungo and Belladonna’s only son. They would only be able to throw _one_ coming of age party and so they went all out for it. Most of the good folk of the Shire had been invited--even the branches of the family they did not like. Bilbo looked at the guest list with some trepidation--he did not think he was particularly remarkable or that he had earned a feast in his name, but that was neither here nor there as the preparations accelerated and more people replied that they would come.

On the actual day itself, Bilbo was allowed to sleep in, but he was too nervy to do so, contenting himself with a large breakfast of kippers, toast and eggs. After three cups of tea and clearing the dishes, his parents presented him with a new waistcoat--with real gold buttons, he noticed. All very fine and adult.

Bilbo had additional responsibilities that day too--from checking the tents in the Party Field to ensuring that all the deliveries were made on time. Bungo and Belladonna were the ones harrying the caterers and the workmen putting up the bunting.

Bunting! Bilbo shook his head and decided that he would only have bunting and all the trimmings if he made it to his hundredth birthday--there might be something to celebrate by then.

Washed and dressed his new waistcoat, he had a glass of wine to calm himself before the guests arrived. Then he had another glass of wine to slake his thirst while greeting his guests and giving out presents.

Hobbits loved getting presents and it was traditional to give them to guests. For the past week, Bilbo and his parents had been up until the wee hours of the morning wrapping them. There were bags of sweets for the young ones, tasteful items for the people they liked and the ugliest pieces of china reserved for the Sackville-Bagginses and the other branches of the family they were not fond of. The Bagginses had a special cupboard for ugly china--most families did, hence awkward china figurines often circulated through the Shire and appeared more popular than they really were.

Bilbo received birthday presents from all his guests, of course. Some of them were obviously going to end up in the ugly china cabinet, but he appreciated the books, the bottles of wine, the jars of good preserves and prize-winning heirloom tomatoes that the not so well off families like the Gamgees gave.

“Happy birthday, coz!” Adalgrim Took, looking rather raffish and romantic in his red velvet waistcoat and black hat, pumped his hand vigorously before passing over a small wooden box. “That’ll be useful to you one day--I got it from Bree!”

Inside the box was a fine little compass--obviously to go with the maps his cousins had passed him--and Bilbo was very pleased with it indeed.

Bilbo was on his third glass of wine by the time Thorin and his nephews turned up in the receiving line, looking uncommonly fine despite their plainer clothing.

In clean tunics with no stains or patches, the younger dwarves looked like very lean hobbits in boots--without waistcoats, of course. And some attempt had been made to run a comb through Kíli’s hair. Thorin, on the other hand, most certainly did not resemble a hobbit. Taller than most of the guests by a head, his bearded countenance stood out from the crowd even more when he appeared in a dark blue tunic that suited him remarkably well.

Bilbo tried not to stare too hard as he shook hands and accepted their birthday wishes--when tided up, the dwarves were undeniably good-looking. They had even brought their fiddles with them in case there was a chance that they could give him a tune, Kíli said even as they presented him with a foldable pocketknife with useful attachments like a corkscrew and different blades for various functions. 

"Uncle made sure we washed up properly before coming over," Fíli said as he leaned in to shake Bilbo's hand. "Do I smell like flowery soap?"

"Like a bouquet of violets," Bilbo reassured him, feeling that giddy combination of relief and happiness that they had come to his party. He was touched by the present as well for he knew they had made themselves--the dwarves could not go shopping in Bywater and had played to their strengths instead.

His euphoria lasted him half-way through the toasts, Nibbling on the plates of finger-foods and cakes, he made the rounds of the tables and had his health toasted to repeatedly until he was slightly dizzy.

He was tired, Bilbo supposed. All the excitement had gotten to him and he was on his fourth glass of wine. Fíli and Kíli started to accompany the hired musicians and they soon had a lively jig going, prompting the younger hobbits to start dancing.

On the side lines, Lobelia Bracegirdle was making pointed comments about inviting strangers to family affairs to Otho. If Bilbo was not mistaken by the proprietary way her hand rested on his, his cousin was going to be snapped up by the lovely-- _ahem_ \--Lobelia pretty soon. 

It was probably time to get some air. Murmuring his excuses, Bilbo got out from the tent and drifted over the back of the Party Tree. The noise faded into the background and he took some deep breaths to clear his head. Fortunately, no courting couples were using the gardens at Bag End at the moment, so he remained unseen. For a little while, anyway.

"Bilbo?" A shape moved out the shadows to join him under the tree

"Oh, Tansy, hullo," he said, pleased that it was not Lobelia or Otho or any of his least favourite relatives. 

Tansy Townsend was a friend and they had a comfortable enough relationship across the years. Comfortable enough for her to slide her arms around him in the shadow of the Party Tree, for they had played together as fauntlings and moved onto playing games of a more grown-up nature in recent years. 

Nothing that could get her or Bilbo into trouble, of course. Tansy had no intention of prematurely becoming Mrs Bilbo Baggins--Bilbo suspected that she had taken a shine to his cousin, the rakish Adalgrim. Bilbo would also have to face the wrath of his mother, who would be annoyed that he had forgotten all she had taught him about how not to impregnate a girl and having to arrange a hasty wedding on the fly. And Bilbo would be cross at himself because he had not gone off on a long vacation to far-off places yet and did not want to be tied down to Bag End.

"It's your party, Bilbo, why the long face?" she asked. "Is it Lobelia again?"

"She's after my cousin, not me," Bilbo said, leaning into the comfortable plumpness of her chest--Tansy had filled out delightfully over the years. "And I thank my lucky stars for that every day."

"Given half the chance, she might have gone for you," Tansy said, watching him mock-shudder with a wicked grin. "With Otho almost out of the running and your coming of age, you're just about the most eligible bachelor in Hobbiton if not the Shire."

"Oh dear, it's that bad?"

"I'm afraid so." Tansy petted his hair soothingly. "Matrons will start introducing their unwed daughters to you."

"Is it time to have a sudden attack of Tookish-ness and run for Bree-land?" he asked. They could not force him to marry their daughters, but they could be a terrible nuisance for a hobbit who wanted to write his poems and read his maps in peace.

"Perhaps it is time for a vacation to far away places. And all those pretty lads and lasses along the way too." Tansy tilted his head up gently. "But you should be happy on your birthday of all days."

Bilbo knew what she was offering as she kissed him and he was grateful for it. Unfortunately, the face that sprang to mind when he closed his eyes was definitely not Tansy’s.

"I'm so sorry, Tansy dear. My mind is dreadfully preoccupied--it'd be unfair to you," he said when she leaned back and looked at him quizzically. “I need to sort myself out.”

"Ah," she mused, dark eyes looking at him shrewdly. “You’ve got your eye on someone, haven’t you?”

“I think so, yes,” Bilbo sighed. 

“And here I was taking bets that you’d be Bachelor Baggins ‘til the end of your days,” she teased. “It must have taken you bad.”

Bilbo nodded. It was bad if Tansy Townsend’s generous curves could not distract him. “Sort of like you and Adalgrim. You should go find him.”

“He’s having a drinking contest with the Proudfoots--I’ll have to see if he’s still standing up,” Tansy said with an indolent shrug of her rounded shoulders. “Better sort yourself out fast then.” 

With a wink and a familiar squeeze of his bottom, Tansy passed him her mostly-full wine-glass and skipped off. Probably to find someone else to have fun with, Bilbo thought, not being quick enough to pinch her as she left him. Adalgrim was still in the process of sowing his wild oats, so Tansy might have to wait until when his cousin was ready to settle down--goodness knows she might be a match for a headstrong Took.

Patience was another thing the young were not good at. Bilbo looked at the wine and drank it down, feeling all the more like a lovesick tween as his prick, half-roused by Tansy’s visit, refused to soften in the wake of her departure. Probably because he was thinking of someone a lot less curvy, but no less appealing.

It was not his fate to be alone that evening though. The wine was barely gone before he was interrupted again.

This guest was a good deal taller than Tansy Townsend and Bilbo felt his heart leap as the distinctive features of Thorin Oakenshield emerged from the gloom.

“Drinking alone? Are you not remiss in your duties as a host?” And that voice--Bilbo felt himself respond that voice like a tree leaning towards the sun.

“Most of them are here for the food and drink, not for the pleasure of my company,” Bilbo said carelessly, setting the wine-glass down on the ground and getting up. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I cannot complain about the food or drink, but you might have something there when you speak of the company.” Thorin looked back at the festivities. “My nephews are making eyes at some young ladies who are openly encouraging them--I thought it best to leave before trouble starts.”

“Oh don’t worry--it’s all just for fun,” Bilbo said with a wave of his hand. “You won’t have angry fathers banging on your smithy door. In fact, you could see it as a sign that they’re getting more used to having dwarves in their midst.”

“I was worried that an army of hobbits armed with pitchforks might attempt to run us out of the Shire,” Thorin remarked, but a glint of humour in his eyes told Bilbo that he found the idea of armed hobbits amusing. 

“We can be quite militant if we choose,” Bilbo said, feeling that he should stand up for the exploits of his people. “We’ve seen off armies of orcs before, at the Battle of Greenfields.”

“Battles . . . What do you know of battles, Mister Baggins?” Thorin wondered as he looked down at Bilbo. “Today is your coming of age . . . How old are you?”

“Thirty-three as of the twenty-second of September. All hobbits come of age at thirty-three,” Bilbo explained.

“You’re younger than my sister sons,” Thorin exclaimed in surprise.

“Um, yes, because we consider reaching a hundred extremely fortunate and your people are more long lived. Around two and a half times longer,” Bilbo pointed out. “I am technically more of an adult than your nephews are right now.”

And because he was emboldened by five glasses of wine and feeling more than a little adventurous that evening, Bilbo tilted his head up and brushed his lips against Thorin’s. He could not say how long he had wanted to do this, but Bilbo had been harbouring less than innocent thoughts about Kíli and Fíli’s uncle since the night he had espied them singing in the forge in the deep-voiced way of their race.

Thorin’s deep baritone had stirred a strange feeling in Bilbo’s heart that evening and he had remained in the shadows, listening to the dwarves without interrupting and slipping off back home when they had stopped. It had seemed like a private thing and Bilbo had felt like an intruder. But the strange feeling would not go away--it only intensified whenever he looked at Thorin Oakenshield.

“Your beard--it tickles,” Bilbo whispered and he tried it again. This time, Thorin responded in kind.

How long they remained that way, entwined in the shadow of the tree, Bilbo did not know. But when they came up for air, he was warmer than he had ever been after drinking wine and his toes were tingling.

“Young Master Baggins,” Thorin growled in that deep voice that made Bilbo’s knees go all wobbly. “If you don’t stop this now, I will do something that we will both regret.”

“How do you know that?” Bilbo asked. “And call me Bilbo.”

“Why?” Thorin demanded, his piercing gaze fixed on Bilbo as though he was a puzzle the dwarf could not quite fathom.

“Because you can’t call me _Mister Baggins_ after kissing me like that anymore.” Bilbo was unsure where that logic had come from, but it seemed to fit. Sort of like how he had moulded his body against the taller dwarf’s.

“Mister Ba--Bilbo, we should not be doing this. You have a party to host.” Thorin sounded a little strained--and judging by what Bilbo could feel against his stomach, the blacksmith was not as unaffected as he pretended to be.

“I don’t like half of the people in there. I am more than a little fond of the people out here,” Bilbo continued, looking up at those sharp features and finding them utterly engrossing. “Won’t you kiss me again?”

“This is a terrible idea.” But encouraged by Bilbo’s hands on his shoulders, Thorin bent his head down and their third kiss was deeper than the first two. Bilbo moaned into the dwarf’s mouth and pressed closer as though to draw Thorin’s heat into himself.

What happened after that . . . Well, Bilbo remembered Thorin’s hands on his back and his arse, holding him as they kissed and moved against each other. He then became impatient and reached for the bulge that was forming under Thorin’s leather breeches. Thorin groaned deep in his chest and Bilbo felt the organ pulse under the palm of his hand even as he pushed himself against the hard length of Thorin’s thigh.

At that point in time, Bilbo did not care if all his guests heard him humping the dwarven blacksmith under the Party Tree, so carried away was he by the taste and the sensation of that solid and warm body pressed against his own.

Thorin was muttering something in a strange language . . . Dwarvish? Bilbo did not know and he did not care because Thorin had not pushed him away and he could feel those words reverberating in the dwarf’s chest even as he buried his own entreaties in Thorin’s hair.

In that position, Bilbo could hear Thorin’s breathing becoming hoarser as his movements became jerkier. That delicious friction stroked the heat between his legs until he came messily in his trousers, panting hard against Thorin’s chest and hearing the low grunt that signalled the dwarf’s release.

Bilbo was no stranger to using his own hand to find pleasure and this was not the first time he had sought it with another, but he had been taken aback at the intensity of it all. He had also been surprised when Thorin had not rejected his advances, for he had expected that the dwarf would find him too young and, well, a _hobbit_. It had made him more than just a little bold that night in the shadow of the old tree as they made no move to disentangle themselves.

“I don’t regret it . . . Thorin,” Bilbo said at last, summoning up the courage to look up at the taller dwarf. He could not, after what had happened that evening, call him _Mister Oakenshield_ in good conscience. What a wanton he had been, Bilbo thought, finally remembering to blush. He could not even blame the wine, having sneaked many a look at Thorin while the blacksmith was working at the anvil, admiring the strength of his arms and hands and thinking about those hands on--

Basically all the thoughts that no respectable hobbit would have about a wandering dwarven blacksmith. His treacherous mind was now entertaining much more scandalous thoughts now that the effects of the wine were fading.

“You say that now,” Thorin said, a strange look in his eyes as he looked down at Bilbo. “But you’ll only remember this as something you did while under the influence of wine at your coming of age party.”

“Please don’t tell me what you think will happen. I know what I want and I’ve wanted you since I heard you singing--” 

“You heard that?” Thorin’s brow creased in bewilderment.

Bilbo looked down at Thorin’s chest, feeling slightly ashamed. “I’m sorry I wound up eavesdropping, but I didn’t want to interrupt. I thought it was a lovely song--”

“You could have just come in and listened,” Thorin said, gently tilting Bilbo’s head up with his callused fingers. “Did you understand the words of that song?”

“No . . . it was in Dwarvish, wasn’t it?” Bilbo asked.

“Khuzdul--the language that our Maker gave us. I’m afraid I’d have to kill you if you understood any of it,” Thorin said solemnly. Bilbo froze up like a petrified rabbit until he saw the suspicious twinkle in the dwarf’s eyes. 

“That’s unfair--I can’t ever tell if you’re joking or not,” Bilbo protested. “And there’s so much I don’t know about you and your people--”

“And the questions will begin again,” Thorin said with a sigh. “I really wonder if you’re just infatuated with new ideas and new people.”

“You could stay and find out,” Bilbo challenged him. “Give me time.”

Thorin shook his head, finally holding Bilbo at arm’s length. “Time is not on my side. I have to meet up with the rest of my people at the end of autumn at the foot of the Blue Mountains.”

“The rest of your people?” This was the first time Bilbo had heard about an extended family. He had always thought that Thorin and his nephews were a single family on their own. With Kíli and Fíli’s mother somewhere in another village.

“Durin’s folk. My clan,” Thorin explained patiently. “We plan to make a new home for ourselves in Ered Luin.”

“We will have until the end of autumn,” Bilbo heard himself say even as his heart beat faster at the thought of the blacksmith and his two nephews leaving the Shire. “Won’t you come back to the party with me and drink to my health? Perhaps after I change my pants?” 

But Bilbo’s mind was racing as he went back to his birthday party and he did not really remember much of it after that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“You like him.”_

_Thorin turned to glower at his youngest nephew, who still had the quill he was cutting in his hands after the hobbit had left for his own home that evening._

_“It’s true,” Fíli chipped in as he tidied up their precious store of paper. Thorin groaned inwardly because they were a right annoyance when they ganged up on him like that. “You haven’t threatened him with violence even once for hanging around the forge. And you didn’t charge him full price for the pipe job at his place.”_

_“I was too embarrassed by you two to charge full price,” Thorin said with a scowl. “You got a fine tea out of it--I almost thought I had to pay them for it from the way you and your brother ate.”_

_“You had three scones and six sandwiches on top of the cake. And you drank more tea than usual, so Bilbo had to keep refilling your cup. You don’t even like tea.” Kíli had very keen eyes and he did not reserve them for long distance targets._

_“You keep looking at him too. When he’s teaching us to write.” Both his sister sons had accursedly good senses that their youth granted them._

_Thorin had ordered them both off to bed and that had been that._

Until the night of Bilbo Baggins’ birthday party. When his sister sons had helpfully pointed out where the hobbit had vanished to. When a bold little hobbit’s actions put a label on the thoughts he had not dared to linger on.

Bilbo was very young and Thorin Oakenshield had never felt older as he watched that unruly shock of curls bent over a sheet of paper with the shaggy heads of his nephews on the evenings when the hobbit came by to tutor them. 

On that particular evening, he realised that he was more than five times Bilbo’s age. Not that it mattered, if his body’s reaction after the kiss was anything to go by. Durin’s beard, it had been a long time even by dwarven reckoning. Thorin was embarrassed by how little it took to make him harden. Just the feeling of that soft little body against his own . . .

And he had spent himself like a green stripling after rutting up against the hobbit. What an example he made--not that his sister sons had any idea of what had happened that evening. He would never hear the end of it if they found out. His nephews had a nosey streak a mile wide and they were fond of the old stories involving legendary lovers.

It could not last, Thorin thought. By the end of autumn, Bilbo would be over his infatuation and probably a little embarrassed by it. And Thorin and his nephews would be on their way to the Blue Mountains as planned to join up with his remaining kin and what few followers they had.

That would be the last they would see of each other. It would be . . . better for them both.

But he could not help but looked amongst the hobbits going to market the next day, searching for one face in particular. The forge was extremely warm, as always, but Thorin felt a shade warmer than usual when Bilbo Baggins walked by with a basket full of shopping and quite deliberately winked at the blacksmith behind the anvil.

Saucy hobbits were a new experience. Bracketed by his nephews and flooded with new orders, Thorin could only turn out a dozen horse shoes in record time and was thankful to the Maker for the leather apron he wore. Because the damned hobbit was bending over to examine some vegetables in the stall just across the road--he was doing it a-purpose, Thorin could have sworn as he resolutely tried not to look.

“Hello,” Bilbo said, coming up to the smithy when he had finished shopping, casual as you please. His nephews hailed the hobbit enthusiastically. “You seem recovered from last night.”

“That was nothing--we could’ve drank another galleon of beer and still woken up with clear heads!” Fíli boasted. “But it was a lovely party.”

Thorin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He had returned to the party last night with Bilbo to find his nephews entertaining the young ladies by participating in a piggyback race with a tankard of beer to be drained after every lap. Dwarves, especially young ones, could easily outstrip Halflings in a race--it also meant that they had downed more beer than the others. They were slurring the lyrics of old drinking songs by the time Thorin herded them back to the smithy to fall over their sleeping rolls. But the dwarven head for drink had bred true in Durin’s line and Thorin only had to dump one bucket of cold water over them in the morning to rouse them.

“I’ve heard that there’s lamb with peas and mint sauce at the pub today,” Bilbo said, appealing to his nephews’ bottomless stomachs. “Shall we go get some lunch?”

And that was how Bilbo Baggins managed to inveigle his way into their lunch time. He was tireless with his questions--this time about how dwarves celebrated their birthdays--and Thorin was inextricably drawn into the conversation despite his reticence. 

This too was new. How could the Halfling act as though nothing had changed? As though everything was normal and they could have light conversations over lamb with peas and baby carrots?

And Thorin realised that day that he could not, in truth, call the hobbit _Mister Baggins_ anymore.

He resolved to speak to the hobbit about it as soon as possible to clear things up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	3. Falling Head Over Heels

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You,” Thorin stated, “are being deliberately infuriating.”

He had confronted the hobbit in the smithy after the day’s orders were done, sending his nephews out with a wheelbarrow of items to be delivered to their owners so that they did not have to witness a scene.

“Whatever did I do to infuriate you?” Bilbo asked, wide-eyed.

“You keep hanging around and acting like you always do!”

Bilbo’s brow crinkled in bewilderment. “And?”

“And you don’t find anything odd about it?” Thorin demanded. Bilbo looked honestly puzzled--hobbits were clearly very open about their relationships, judging by the number of them who kissed and flirted in public while going to market.

“No?” Bilbo ventured. “Why should I act any different? I like you. I like your nephews. Not in _that_ way--I mean to talk to.”

“Is that all you want to do? _Talk_?” Thorin leaned in closer.

“Well, no,” Bilbo admitted. “But it would be in poor taste to grope you under the table with your nephews just sitting there. And in the open too. I didn’t know if you’d find it rude or--”

Thorin promptly leaned back. “Mahal, you can’t be serious.”

“Actually, I was being very serious.” Bilbo took a step forward. “And you’ve sent them away too. Did you want to be alone with me just to talk?”

His denial never made its way out of his suddenly dry mouth. Had he subconsciously arranged to be alone with hobbit?

“What do you want?” Bilbo looked up into his face as he took Thorin’s hand carefully--as though he was afraid that the dwarf would pull away.

“I would like to know,” Thorin said thickly, feeling out of his depth, “why a hobbit is persistently trying to cozy up to a wandering blacksmith who is probably older than his great grandfather--”

“ _This hobbit_ is wondering why you’re asking that--I rather think I like you, grumpy face and all,” Bilbo said--but his tone was not sharp as he looked at Thorin’s large hands. “Look at this--a blacksmith’s hands, not a nursemaid’s hands, but Fíli and Kíli said that you helped to take care of them when they were barely old enough to stand up.”

Fíli and Kíli should really learn to curb their tongues, Thorin thought distractedly.

“For all your scowling, you really do care,” Bilbo continued, his smaller fingers exploring the calluses on Thorin’s hand. “And for all your complaints, you never do shoddy work. Even learned how to fix everything from gates to the plumbing just to make ends--”

“My sister sons talk a lot,” Thorin growled. But he had not been a smith of all work originally--necessity had forced him to adapt over the years. It had not been easy, but he had picked up enough skills to be employable.

“Well yes, mostly about how you’re harder on yourself than on them,” Bilbo admitted, bringing Thorin’s hand closer as if to examine every scar. “Is it odd to find that likeable?”

Thorin could feel the warmth of the hobbit’s breath on the back of his hand and the effect was instantaneous--he felt himself stiffen as he was rocked by a barely perceivable shiver. Bilbo’s question flew right over his head at that point.

“Bilbo . . .” he started and stopped as a warm pair of lips kissed the rough skin on the knuckle of his forefinger. The hairs on his forearms stood to attention, much like another part of him.

“Yes?” The hobbit gazed up at him in that way that was no longer shy or hesitant and Thorin found himself responding to that look.

“Insufferable hobbit,” Thorin growled, gripping that small hand in his and lifting it to his cheek to feel the softness of that unblemished skin. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

“Tell me,” Bilbo said and Thorin was pleased to hear his breath catch in his throat as he pressed a kiss to the inside of the hobbit’s wrist.

“You’re testing my patience.” And Thorin Oakenshield gave in then--gave in like he never had for over a century. He bent his head, pulling Bilbo close so that he might taste his lips again.

Bilbo opened his mouth immediately, eagerly welcoming Thorin as his hands tangled themselves in the dwarf’s long hair. There was a lingering sweetness this time as they went about kissing with less of the haste from the previous night.

“I haven’t even begun yet,” Bilbo said to him when they broke apart. “Let me show you . . .”

Thorin felt his mouth drop open as Bilbo sank down to his knees in front of him. His mind knew what the hobbit was offering but--

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Bilbo said, looking up at him as he reached for the ties that held the leather apron around Thorin’s waist.

Thorin did not tell Bilbo to stop. In fact he did not tell Bilbo anything as the apron was removed and nimble fingers worked his belt off and unlaced his breeches. He almost groaned in relief as those fingers released him from the confines of his clothing and started stroking him.

For the first time since this had all began, Bilbo looked a little hesitant but he leaned forward and very carefully licked the head of Thorin’s cock. The sensation startled a gasp out of the dwarf and encouraged by this, Bilbo started to lick and suckle at the underside of his member.

His wordless groans no doubt spurred the hobbit on and Bilbo moved to apply that nimble tongue to his ball sac. Thorin did not claim to be vastly experienced in love-making or the strange ways of hobbits, but he was certainly not opposed to this.

In spite of knowing what was coming, Thorin bit back a cry as that warm mouth enveloped the head of his erection, his hands moving on their own volition to settle on Bilbo’s head. He had to hold himself back from tugging on those curls as Bilbo drew in him, bit by torturous bit.

The blacksmith tried not to look down because the sight of being taken in by the hobbit was going to make him spill again in an embarrassingly short time. Bilbo could not swallow all of him, but he made up for it by using his hands, curling them around the base of Thorin’s cock--the pleasurable pressure made his hips jerk up even as he reached for the wall to steady himself.

Snatches of Khuzdul slipped past his lips but Bilbo did not know--could not know what Thorin was saying as he applied his mouth industriously. It was too much at last--he tried to warn Bilbo that he was so very close, but the hobbit did not withdraw. Instead, Bilbo stroked the area behind his balls in a way that made all of Thorin clench up--

He had barely the presence of mind to bite down on his leather gauntlets, muting his roar as he came in Bilbo’s mouth. 

Undeterred by the mess, Bilbo continued to milk him until the dwarf had spilled all he could and had to prop himself up against the wall to stay upright. But that was not the end of it. The Halfling sat back on his heels, tugging at his own cock out of his trousers and proceeded to stroke himself while looking Thorin in the eye, obviously wanting him to watch.

Thorin did not--could not look away. He would have to be a statue made of granite to ignore the sight of the hobbit getting himself off with the pale trickle of his seed leaking out of the corners of his mouth--

 _Maker!_ Thorin heard himself groan as he watched the expression on Bilbo’s face as he spent himself on the ground and his boots. He did not have the heart to be upset at the hobbit for making a mess though in the quiet, almost thoughtful silence that followed. 

They had to fetch damp towels to clean themselves up and Thorin felt slightly sheepish despite the matter of fact way Bilbo helped him with the washing up and hanging everything out to dry in front of the fire like they had been engaging in housekeeping. Fíli and Kíli could have walked in at any moment too--what would they have thought then after all his grousing about hobbits?

But his sister sons were late in returning and Thorin would have worried about their tardiness except for the fact that this was the Shire and he did not sense any danger in the night beyond the possibility of rain later. They came in half an hour after Bilbo had left, looking slightly guilty.

The irony of it was not lost on Thorin.

To their credit, they got straight to the point and admitted that they had been tipped handsomely by the hobbits who were pleased that they did not need to carry their goods from the smithy by themselves. And wheeling the barrow-load of items had been very thirsty work . . .

". . . So we had a penny ale at the pub when we were done--just one each," they explained, half expecting to be raked over the coals for it.

No one was more surprised than Fíli and Kíli when their uncle merely cuffed them gently and told them to go wash up before going to bed. Thorin found himself being examined by two pairs of worried eyes.

"Are you well?" Fíli asked, leaning in close.

"Check him for a fever!" Kíli suggested.

Thorin had to push his young kinsmen off irritably, growling that he was quite all right and they had work to do the next day so they had best shift themselves.

Only he was not quite all right.

He went to sleep that night a creature of two minds. One part, which he dubbed Thorin-who-should-really-know-better, was over the moon. The other part was Dutiful-Thorin, the one who was in the Shire to earn a season’s wages and leave with his sister sons. Dutiful-Thorin felt that Thorin-who-should-really-know-better was too easily led around by his prick. Thorin-who-should-really-know-better then pointed out that he was talking to himself and would he just shut up and enjoy the attention that the hobbit was giving him?

It was not so easy to reconcile this with Dutiful-Thorin, who was not comfortable with having a short-lived affair with the Halfling. And if Dutiful-Thorin was honest about it, he was not entirely certain that he could put aside his feelings if he let them develop past the initial desire that had drawn them together after what had transpired that evening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the weeks that followed, life carried on as usual in the Shire. Bilbo certainly did not feel that much older after his birthday. He did not feel all that different either.

Only there was Thorin and Thorin’s presence like a warm blanket around him whenever he visited the smithy.

Bilbo took the dwarves out mushroom hunting in the small patches of woodland in the Shire in early October. Caught up with identifying edible mushrooms the way Bilbo had taught them, Fíli and Kíli did not appear to notice that their uncle and the Halfing had not been visible for over a quarter of an hour and emerged from the woods with very few mushrooms and slightly flushed faces.

Belladonna Baggins fried the morels and brown mushrooms they had collected for dinner and they ate them with sausages and plenty of bubble-and-squeak. She might have noticed how Bilbo looked at Thorin Oakenshield sometimes when he was not laughing at something Fíli or Kíli said, but thought little of it.

There were fewer remarks when Bilbo brought the dwarves along for the pressing of apples and other fruit at the end of autumn--the hobbits were definitely getting used to strangers in their midst and they were a hospitable people who saw nothing wrong in letting all comers have a turn at the cider press. Fíli and Kíli had a go at turning the screw on the wooden press, using their dwarven strength to squeeze the pomace down even further to encouraging cheers from the crowd. It was all very merry and festive--for in addition to the apple juice produced, there was also mature cider from the previous years’ pressings.

Thorin tasted like the pear cider they had sampled when Bilbo kissed him in the shelter of a small copse of trees later that evening--a heady mix of sweetness with a tart finish.

He enjoyed the spontaneity of meeting Thorin’s eyes over the heads of the people in the crowd and slipping off in the middle of the cider pressing celebrations, but it was still a reminder that the season was passing and made their brief liaisons all the more urgent.

Bilbo also enjoyed the thought of flustering the stoic blacksmith. It was only fair because Thorin’s voice got to him all the time. Bilbo tended to get extremely warm under the collar when Thorin lapsed into Dwarvish, as he was doing right that instance.

They had been discreet, he supposed as he fumbled at the fastenings of Thorin’s breeches. Bilbo did not like to flaunt his affairs, but Thorin was even more reluctant to do anything that would clue his nephews in to what they had been up to.

Bilbo put it down under the things he did not understand about Thorin and promptly lost that train of thought as strong callused fingers wrapped around him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Pear cider or peach cider?” Kíli asked his brother. There were some rather attractive young hobbit ladies around, but there was also an awful lot of special reserve mature cider to sample with the nibbly things at the festival--which if he had to rate it, was one of the best things about the Shire.

“Umm, we should have some more of that pear cider,” Fíli suggested. No doubt Thorin and Bilbo would appreciate the extra time. He honestly did not know what the secrecy was about though. They had keen hearing and sharp eyes and noses--it was not as though Fíli and Kíli could not tell that their kinsman was “engaging in relations” with the hobbit. But Thorin coped better if he thought no-one else knew. “They’ll be quick but not _that_ quick.”

“It’s nice to see him cheer up a little bit,” Kíli said as he had more cider and perused the cheese board. “Ooh, they’ve got pickles too!”

Fíli followed his younger brother, feeling that they could indulge a little more now that their time in the Shire was coming to an end. They actually put on some weight over the two seasons and if Kíli did not stop growing, he would be the taller one soon enough. “Go easy on those onions--I have to sleep right next to you.”

“You smell after you eat cheese,” Kíli said around a mouthful of pickled onion. “And then Thorin tells us to go take a bath.”

“Not much of a chance of a bath on the road, so you’d better use more soap now,” Fíli retorted. He would miss being clean and not all whiffy after a few days of travel. Of course, they would get used to their own smell after a while, but he had learned that girls generally did not like the smell very much.

“Shame we have to leave--I mean besides the food,” Kíli said, looking mournfully at the trestle tables and their glorious burdens of food--a never before seen combination by his brother’s reckoning. “You reckon Bilbo will be sad?”

“’Course he’ll be sad, but he won’t go all broody like Thorin,” Fíli predicted. They had a shared moment of looking at a future where their Uncle would stare off moodily into the distance and be more short-tempered than usual. They both shuddered in unison.

“ _That’s bad--no good comes out of denying what’s there._ ” Kíli had switched to Khuzdul because certain concepts were more dwarfish in nature and harder to express in Westron. 

“ _No, but can you imagine Thorin staying here or letting Bilbo come with us? To Ered Luin?_ ” his bother asked. It was not the destiny of Thorin Oakenshield to remain a blacksmith forever--that much the younger dwarves knew. And there was no-one who felt his responsibilities more keenly than their uncle’

“ _He’s got a family too_ ,” Kíli said moodily. Family was _important_ and one as nice as Bilbo’s was not something you gave up without a fight.

“ _Perhaps they’ll think of something before we leave_ ,” Fíli said. “ _And cheer up--that expression doesn’t look good on you and people are going to think there’s something wrong with the food._ ”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thorin Oakenshield did not frolic. He most certainly did not _canoodle_. But he was at a loss to describe what it was he was doing with the hobbit at autumn.

Yes, _the hobbit_ was Bilbo Baggins--he of the unprepossessing stature and soft skin. Not a warrior, but an aspiring scholar who sometimes wrote poetry. Not that there was anything wrong with that--it took all sorts to make the world--but he was not what Thorin had imagined when he had the leisure to think about lovers.

Of course, the last time he thought about taking a lover was a damn long time ago, his body reminded him, still feeling some of the pleasant afterglow that had accompanied him all the way back to the smithy after the cider pressing festival.

He _could_ have taken lovers, but they seemed to be an unnecessary distraction for a wandering blacksmith. And no-one would desire to leave their halls and homes with a homeless and penniless smith. He had doxies before, but life on the road was a lonely existence--to the point where he had actually paid a doxy and they had spent most of the night talking.

Bilbo Baggins talked _a lot_ \--and he was just so willing to share his life with them that Thorin could not feel any envy or resentment. Thorin had spent most of his life closed off and the hobbit was just the opposite. While he had some hobbit-like reservations, Bilbo was refreshingly open to life in general.

And damn well shameless at times too--not that Thorin had complained about it. The dwarf did not come from a place where people flirted extravagantly and kissed each other in the middle of the road--it took some getting used to.

It took around a week--just after Bilbo’s birthday party actually. 

By that time, it was almost instinctive--they would meet up in the evening in a quiet grove if the weather was fine and lose themselves for a little while in their mutual desire. 

Which involved mouths and hands and everything that could be managed with most of their clothes still on. Thorin did not feel quite up to asking for more, not when it was a task and a half to keep the noise level down to avoid alerting every hobbit in the vicinity to their activities. Alas, hobbits also had extremely keen hearing in addition to being stealthy on their feet--all the better to avoid the Big Folk with.

It was better than nothing. It was dangerously close to things he should not be thinking about at this stage of his preparations. It was also impossible to ignore--like an itch that had manifested itself and would not go away.

So caught up in his thoughts was he that Thorin did not notice his sister sons staring after him worriedly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_From Hobbiton through to the Rushock Bog and then on to Needlehole . . ._

On one particular windy Friday afternoon, Bilbo was pouring over the map of Eriador with his compass and a piece of string. He had made some notations and had done some sums on some note paper, frowning as he added certain things up.

“Bilbo, will you get the post?” his Dad called to him from the kitchen. The mailman might have just gone past Bag End.

“Hmm? Oh, Mr Brown’s early today,” Bilbo said, leaving off his calculations to go to the door. The mailman had already left their letters in their box and Bilbo brought them in, sorting them out as he went. Bills from the grocer, of course, and there was a familiar scrawl on some letters addressed to Bilbo himself.

"Letters from Adalgrim and the other scamps again?" Bungo's asked genially as he popped his head out from the kitchen. His wife’s family were still respectable for all their strangeness and wild ways. The Tooks had held the Thrainship for all of hobbit history and it was easy to forget that adventure-loving Adalgrim was in line for the position right after their cousin Fortinbras. Bilbo was just grateful that he had a lot of cousins between him and the position of Thrain.

“Oh yes--he’s somewhere in Fornost,” Bilbo replied, handing over the rest of the post while he read his letters. “Managed to get his letters carried south via merchant caravan again, I suppose.”

“Will you be wanting to go on a walking holiday?” Bungo asked, looking at his son shrewdly.

“Eh? What?” Caught off guard, Bilbo wondered if his Dad had acquired mind-reading abilities.

"Well, I imagine the lure is getting very strong. Your Mum's warned me about this--you'll be wanting to go travelling with your Took cousins soon."

"Something along those lines, yes," Bilbo said cautiously. He had been entertaining the idea even before his birthday, but they had not featured his Took cousins. Now, the prospect of going off on his own had been replaced by something even stranger.

"I was even thinking of asking your dwarfish friends to take you along with them if they were heading towards Bree," Bungo said. "Safer on the road if you have more numbers and all that."

"They're only going to Bree next spring if there’s work there," Bilbo replied automatically. "They'll be wintering in Ered Luin."

Fíli and Kíli were a virtual mine of information when it was about things they were allowed to talk about. Yes, Bilbo _had_ noticed certain omissions in the life history of the dwarves. He was patiently chipping away at it, but some things they seemed to hold closer to the chest than other things.

"Wintering in a mountain? Sounds dreadfully cold," Bungo remarked with a shiver. "If you don't mind waiting until next spring, we'll give you all a jolly good send-off."

"Well, I was considering going to the Blue Mountains," Bilbo began.

"For a _vacation_?" Bungo's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Now I know you're curious about where your friends live, but it doesn't seem very comfortable. Do they have a village or some city there?"

"Um, no, more like the beginnings of a settlement . . ." Actually, it sounded like they were heading for the ruins of a former settlement--it was not supposed to be _comfortable_ at all. No bath water, no furniture to speak of and no real sources of food.

"You might want to hold off a bit, Bilbo," his Dad said. "Dwarves are the secretive sort--they don't like outsiders in their cities, or so I've heard."

That was true according to the books Bilbo had managed to find on dwarrow kind as well.

Bilbo made a noncommittal noise. He would have to ask Thorin eventually. But _eventually_ was slowly but surely becoming _now_ as autumn drew to an end.

"Bilbo, I know you're fond of them--more than a little fond--but a summer romance has to run its course," his Dad said with a sigh. “They might come back, but you might not feel the same.”

“What if it’s not?” Bilbo asked quietly.

“I have no idea what their uncle would think about you mooning after one of them--they’re a little young by dwarf standards, aren’t they? Haven’t got their beards for all that they’re what your old Uncle Ponto would call fine bonny lads,” his father remarked. “Stands to reason that they look a bit more like hobbits and you’d find them more exciting to hang around.”

Bilbo’s body sensibly locked his jaw so that his mouth would not fall open while his mind went blank for a few moments.

“I’m--well, I’m not entertaining any romantic notions about them,” Bilbo managed to splutter out after he simultaneously tried not to laugh or run to find his mother to ask just how long had they thought he had been having it off with Fíli or Kíli. “And I don’t think I’ll need their protection to go travelling.”

“I’m relieved to hear that,” Bungo said. “The first bit, I mean--I wouldn’t like to have to face their guardian if he came around to take you to task about fooling around with his nephews.”

Torn between wanting to set his Dad straight on certain matters and needing someone else to talk to about this, Bilbo beat a hasty retreat back into his room with his maps and his rapidly shifting thoughts.

When Bungo Baggins had gone to the Green Dragon for his Friday evening pint and weekly game of darts, Bilbo managed to get his mother alone when she was reorganising the _mathom_ \--otherwise known as the cabinet of ugly china.

“Mum, have you and Dad been talking about me going out adventuring?” he asked as he put back some books into the shelves of the family library.

“I didn’t quite say _adventuring_ to your Dad,” Belladonna Baggins said, looking over from where she was setting some porcelain statuettes side by side to see if they would look better in a group. “But I imagined it would come soon, what with Adalgrim sending you news of his wanderings. And maps and compasses too.”

“You’ve prepared him for that?” Bilbo walked over and had a look at the arrangement. The sad figurines were not cutting the mustard, that much was obvious.

“He ought to be after being married to me for this long,” Belladonna said, giving up on the _mathom_. “But I suppose he feels better if you went with some people.”

“What, even Thorin and his nephews?”

“They seem to be the decent sort of dwarf,” his Mum said and waggled a finger at him. “And there are some really bad ones out there, let me tell you now.”

Of course--it had been his mother’s more experienced reading of the dwarves rather than his father’s opinion. “So you think it’d be all right to go to their new city with them?” Bilbo asked as he helped his mother put the figurines into their box. They could save all of those for Otho and Lobelia’s wedding.

“Well, it really depends on you. Staying away for so long does wonders for your reputation. As in you won’t have one afterwards,” his Mum pointed out. “Your Dad would like you to have something to come back to.”

What Bilbo wanted to say next was cut short by a knock on the door. 

“Oh, that might be Doreen Grubb come to return the second best frying pan,” Belladonna said, automatically heading for the front hall. “If you put the box back into the _mathom_ cupboard, we can have a look at my old travel sack--it’s in the cupboard on the far left.”

When his mother came back, Bilbo already had the rucksack out and was figuring out how the straps connected. “Was it Missus Grubb?”

“Yes, and Missus Tunnelly.” Something in her voice made Bilbo look up. His mother’s mouth had pursed up in the way that indicated that she was fed up with dealing with the gossips and all the old wives in the Shire.

“Whatever’s the matter?” Bilbo asked.

Belladonna sighed. “The local grapevine’s at it again. I’m sorry, Bilbo, but the village is a-buzz with gossip about you walking out with Mister Thorin.”

 _Walking out_ meant everything that a couple could do within ninety-degrees of actually walking in the context of the Shire. Hobbits being hobbits could go unseen and were very good at spying on their neighbours--it was likely that they had been seen one evening. But it was none of their business to begin with.

“Nosy old hens--” Then Bilbo’s brain caught up with the rest of him. “Hold on--you’re not surprised by it?”

“I put two and two together and realised why you’ve become so fond of evening walks,” his mother said matter-of-factly. “And no, I didn’t think it was the younger dwarves.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, feeling a lot less clever now. 

“You’re _my_ son after all--I just had to look at them and I thought there was a fine looking blacksmith with a manly baritone--”

“Mum!” Bilbo exclaimed, scandalised because--well, because she was his mother!

“Hah! I still have it in me to shock the good hobbits of the Shire,” Belladonna Baggins said cheekily. But her expression soon became solemn. “But you do like him more than you like Tansy Townsend or the others, don’t you?”

“Yes, which was why I wanted to see where they were going after they leave at the end of autumn,” Bilbo said in a rush. Everything just came out then--he had had been measuring the distance from the Shire to Ered Luin and yes, asking his mother for travel tips had been on the tip of his tongue that evening too.

“You’ve given it a lot of thought, obviously.” His mother looked at her old travel bag nostalgically. “A lot more than I did before I ventured out.”

“But are you and Dad all right with it?” Bilbo asked anxiously. “I’d feel better if--”

It was fated to be the day where Bilbo could not have a proper conversation with his Mum for they heard the key turn in the lock and noise of the front door opening.

“That’d be your Dad,” Belladonna said. “I think he’s probably got wind of it by now.”

Bilbo supposed that they should get it over with as soon as possible. So he plucked up his courage and girded his loins metaphorically. His day could not get any worse anyhow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to Steerpike13713 for beta-reading this chapter!


	4. I Am The King of Wishful Thinking

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It looked like it was about to rain, but Thorin Oakenshield started out down the road to Hobbiton on that autumn evening anyhow.

It was only right that he say his farewells in person. Winter would soon be upon them and he wanted to move on before the weather made the roads difficult to travel.

If Bilbo Baggins was out and about that day, Thorin did not see his familiar form popping up by the side of the road or waving at him from behind a tree. In fact, he made it all the way to Hobbiton without seeing him. The local hobbits were all bringing in their laundry and closing their windows as the wind picked up and blew the drifts of fallen leaves across the road.

Thorin did not know why he paused at the start of Bagshot Row. It was not supposed to be a complicated thing, but saying good-bye to the most familiar face in the Shire seemed to require more than terse words on his doorstep.

He turned back when it started to drizzle, the storm clouds overhead mirroring his turbulent mood. 

What in the world had he wanted to say? _We’re probably leaving soon. This is an awkward thing to ask, but I might visit again next year--would you be up for another round?_

Hardly the most flattering sort of thing to say anyone he wanted as . . . what precisely did he want the hobbit for? His thoughts stumbled over each other as his boots crossed the small puddles forming on the ground and fetched up again the stone stoop of the smithy.

Most dwarves would not call it a true smithy. It was a hole in the side of a low hillock after all--but it was comfortable and dry inside. He thought it was a sign that he was growing too used to small, comfortable things--much like the hobbit.

“You’re back early,” Fíli said, looking up from where he was wrapping wire around the hilt of one of his daggers when Thorin came into the smithy, dripping and irritable as a wet cat. 

Why were his nephews timing his return? He had too many questions in his head at the moment to entertain more. “It’s raining,” he growled. “Sensible folk are at home or in bed. Have you started packing yet?”

“We’ve started, but Fíli found some more weapons he had to fix or re-sharpen,” Kíli called from the cupboard that served as a small pantry where he was doing an inventory of provisions.

“Hurry up, we will need to leave soon--within the next day or so if the rain stops,” Thorin said curtly.

His sister-sons exchanged looks that he could not interpret. Growing up as they had, the brothers were almost as close as twins and had their own private code. Thorin turned to dry himself off in front of the fire and mentally sorted through the supplies they had for the journey. They did not accumulate much beyond tools, weaponry and whatever money they could earn--it made packing and leaving easier.

“You didn’t meet Bilbo,” Fíli said quietly. He had obviously drawn the short straw.

In the snug confines of the smithy, that statement had more weight than it should have.

“And what of it? He’s probably reading by his fire on a night like this,” Thorin said gruffly. His mind helpfully supplied the image of the hobbit in his pyjamas and dressing gown, pipe in mouth and book in hand--hardly the stuff of erotic daydreams, but it was not as though Thorin Oakenshield found it endearing. _No, not endearing at all._

“Were you going to say good-bye? It’d be a shame if we didn’t have a chance to tell him--”

“Tell him yourself if it matters so much.” Thorin turned to glare at his sister-sons, who had given up on pretending to be busy and were just watching him.

“We thought you might . . . be wanting to say something else?” Kíli piped up hopefully.

Thorin stopped what he was doing and looked at his nephews again. They _knew_ \--of course, they knew. He did not want to know _how_ they knew or just _how much_ they knew. 

“Aren’t you going to, well, do something about it?”

“What do you expect me to do about it?” Thorin snapped. He was irrationally angry, partly because they knew and partly because he was terribly conflicted, but Fíli was very likely to be declared his heir and he had to know the consequences of every decision. “Take the Halfling along with us? Away from his cosy hearth and into the wilderness?”

In the flickering light of the forge fire, Fíli and Kíli’s faces were a pair of open books written in large, slightly awkward lettering that suggested inexperience on the part of the writers.

Thorin ploughed on before his sister-sons could embarrass themselves anymore. “If there was a better way of destroying a hobbit’s reputation, I haven’t heard of it. And what of his family? We have nothing to repay them for the taking of a son.”

“He’s a hobbit, not a dwarf! They don’t follow our customs,” Kíli argued. He was the stubborn one, reminding Thorin of his mother every time he got that look in his eyes. He had a very strong jaw for the mulish look too.

“As well say that the rain is wet!” Thorin exclaimed. “All the more you cannot expect them to understand our ways!”

“They might have something called a _dowry_ , like Men do,” Fíli said helpfully. Always the negotiator, his sister’s eldest. “But it’s from the bride’s family to the groom’s family, so it might not count. If you want to satisfy tradition, we could knock up something really nice and give it to his parents--”

Fíli was already mastering the art of looking for loopholes. Thorin wished that he was in the mood to be proud of him--he really did try sometimes despite his inexperience.

“I sincerely doubt that the Bagginses will appreciate a nice present, no matter how well-crafted, for the kidnapping of their only son,” Thorin stated, his tone frosty.

“It’s not _kidnapping_ if he wants to go with us,” Kíli said, undeterred by his uncle’s glare. “You’ve got to ask him--”

“Kíli-- _no_. That is the end of the matter,” Thorin said firmly.

Fíli sighed and started signing in Iglishmêk. 

_The Seven Fathers were laid down in the earth . . ._

This was one of the things that they seldom spoke of, for it was originally in Khuzdul and not known to non-dwarves.

Thorin knew the story. It was one of the legends of Durin, First of the Seven Fathers and he knew the moral of that one all too well.

"Enough," he said quietly. "I know what you mean. But I am not Durin the First.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You could have told me,” was the first thing Bungo said when he came in, closing the door on the rather windy evening. It was probably quite unsettling to have to hear about his son’s affairs from the village gossips when they had just been talking about it this afternoon.

"I know--I'm sorry, Dad," Bilbo began. "I really didn't know what to say to you just now . . . And I wanted to talk to Mum first."

Bilbo loved his parents equally, but it was obvious that he was closer to his mother.

"You're serious about this then?" Bungo had seen his wife's former travelling gear laid out on the table--as though Bilbo was ready to pack and leave. "I couldn't care what all of Hobbiton thinks, Bilbo, but I have to wonder about why you've conceived this idea of going away with the dwarves."

"I'm serious--and yes, it's partly because of Thorin," Bilbo said. "I'm willing to try."

In truth, he was willing to try to rough it in the wild for Thorin's sake alone. For Fíli and Kíli’s sakes too. Hobbits loved their creature comforts and few could be moved to stir from their hearths and comfortable hobbit holes. Those who did were considered . . . well, they were considered _mad_ and not the sort of people you would have over for tea.

"I'm more worried about you surviving such a journey. And in the end, can you be sure you’ll find a place amongst them?" Bungo looked like he was trying very hard to understand, but was mostly sure that Bilbo had taken leave of his senses. "Hobbits and dwarves don't mix around together because they _are_ different. They've got their own language and culture too, and they don't like sharing it with the likes of us."

“Not all dwarves are the like that--it’s like saying all hobbits enjoy pipe-weed,” Bilbo said in defence of _his_ dwarves. He sincerely hoped that it was the case though.

Bungo did not seem to want to split hairs with him even as he exchanged a worried look with his wife, now uncharacteristically silent. "And what of Thorin's intentions? I'm worried that you'll end up with nothing but a broken heart in the end--destitute and abandoned in some forsaken corner of the world."

"I’m not that sure yet," Bilbo admitted. “But I don’t think he’ll abandon me . . .”

HIs father sighed, "You're young--"

“I'm of age, actually,” Bilbo said, knowing that his discussion earlier that afternoon had only been the prelude to this debate. “And you're going to tell me that I'll get over it again. But what if I don't?”

"Time heals, Bilbo. Those who join in haste might regret it in the future."

“What if this is my chance? Like with you and Mum? Why shouldn't I take it?" Bilbo had never thought that he was the melodramatic sort or prone to dramatic gestures, but there it was. The weather contrived to add to the mood as the sky opened up and rain poured down outside. "Tansy thinks I'm going to wind up as Bachelor Baggins of Hobbiton--so I might as well go out and have my adventure now!"

“I’m not objecting to you going out into the world,” Bungo began heatedly.

“But you thought that would involve a jaunt to Bree-land, tickling the lasses and bumming a few lads along the way before I come back to become a respectable hobbit?” Bilbo saw the answer in his father’s face even before he could speak. “To get the wanderlust out of my system?”

“Bag End is yours, Bilbo,” his father said, looking at his wife for support and finding solid neutrality instead. Belladonna Baggins did not look as though she was coming down in support of either side. “I thought to leave something for your future--”

“But what if my future is not here in Bag End?”

“That’s what I was afraid of, Bilbo. Though I hadn’t realised that you were so determined to leave to follow those dwarves. I wouldn’t have encouraged--”

“Not encouraged me to make friends on my own,” Bilbo said with a heavy heart. He had always taken his parents’ approval of his activities for granted. They had never nagged him about his love of reading about far off places or his dream of meeting elves. He had never been made to feel odd for not being a homebody like the others of his generation.

His father had obviously never expected him to be anything more than an armchair adventurer.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Bilbo said, trying to control his emotions. “I think I’ll go sort some things out now.”

“Bilbo--” 

His mother stepped in then, her voice low as she spoke to her husband. Bilbo did not stay to listen--he escaped to his room with his Mum’s travel sack and tried to cool his head. Hobbits did not like altercations in general and Bilbo had never been fond of confrontations.

He could not deny that his Dad’s expectations or the lack of them in any direction other than his eventual respectable existence as the Master of Beg End, made him angry. But he also understood that Bungo was worried that an emotional attachment like Thorin would mean that Bilbo might not come back home after seeing the world outside the Shire.

A hobbit without a home was a terrible thing to be.

Bilbo’s wandering gaze fell on his compass, the gift from Adalgrim, nestled in its bed of cotton in a little box. If he did not use it, the compass would remain tucked away, safe and untested. Much like himself--and Bilbo did feel extremely sheltered and unworldly at that moment because what did he know of the lands outside the Shire, after all?

His moment of self-doubt was interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Hobbits were purposefully loud whenever they did not want to surprise anyone.

“Bilbo.” Belladonna Baggins stood at the entrance to her son’s room, looking in on him in concern. “This is a right old mess, isn’t it?”

“That’s fairly accurate,” Bilbo said, unable to keep the thread of resentment out of his voice.

She moved into room and sat down on the bed next to him. “You have to understand that your Dad always thought of wildness as a product of youth. Something to grow out of eventually.”

Bilbo gave a small nod. He felt slightly betrayed by Belladonna’s earlier reticence because if anyone would understand, it would be his Mum, the most adventurous of the wild Tooks of Tuckborough. But he also dreaded causing a rift between his parents. They were an odd couple, to be sure, but a happy one. He could not bear the thought of them falling out over him.

“But I thought you might turn out differently--especially when you were ten and said that you wanted to be an elf when you grew up,” she said with a small smile. “People are going to blame my side of the family for this as usual.”

“It’s not like you care what they say about me,” Bilbo muttered, fiddling with the rucksack. “But it’ll probably liven up a dull winter’s evening whenever they talk about _that Bilbo Baggins who took up with a dwarven blacksmith_.”

His imitation of the gossips of the Shire made Belladonna grin. “And my bad influence on you, no doubt.”

“I wish that they’d realise that no one influenced me--not Thorin or his nephews.” Bilbo turned to his mother, desperately hoping that he did not sound like a tween in the throes of his first crush. “You always said you can’t control who you love or when you fall in love--you can only love.”

“But you haven't asked to go with him yet, have you?” Belladonna asked gently. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to do what I should have done earlier, Mum,” he replied. “A comfy bed is a cold bed if there’s no one else to share it with you.”

“And rocks will dig into your backside unless you have someone between you and ground,” his mother said with the same lack of restraint that had once made her so scandalous.

“Dwarves probably make terrible mattresses,” Bilbo said, thinking of the solid muscle of Thorin’s body and felt his ear tips becoming warm. “I suppose I’ll find out.”

To her credit, Belladonna did not say _At this time of the night? In the rain?_ when Bilbo headed for the door. She got out the mackintosh they used for gardening in inclement weather and stood on the doorstep to watch him go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So that’s what it feels like,” Belladonna Baggins said to herself as she watched the small figure of her only son striding down the waterlogged path down Bagshot Row. “No wonder Mum wanted to box my ears every time I went away.”

Once, she had been a girl more in love with the idea of adventure and new people and places than anything else. And yes, there had been the odd romance that had turned her head every now and then. But irony of ironies, it had been love that had made her give up wandering in exchange for a husband and a home.

So it was hardly surprising that her son was driven by similar passions in the opposite direction. Bungo might twig on to that one day, but at the moment, it looked as though their son was really going out in the world.

Belladonna had a feeling that she might sending her son away down paths unknown to hobbit-kind and the maternal part of her was giving her Took side a right drubbing at the moment. But she had resolved to allow her son the freedom to choose his own fate without any pressure from her. Even if it might result in their family being the talk of the Shire for months--make that _years_ \--to come. Despite the fact that her husband would be hurt by Bilbo’s unexpected behaviour and actions.

They were already gossip fodder for the season if she judged the excitement in Doreen Grubb’s eyes correctly earlier that evening. Poor old Bungo would have to bear with it for a while, but they would not speak ill of her family while she was around.

Woe betide any goodwife who would gossip about her son, she thought as she gathered her shawl around herself. She would sharpen her tongue on their hides--and she knew a lot more about the going-ons in the village than she let on most of the time. Having survived the world outside the Shire, Belladonna had no compunction about using every trick she knew to defend herself and her kin.

Hobbits could be lions when it came to their families and their young--Belladonna Baggins née Took was no exception.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a light in the small window of the smithy when Bilbo slogged his way down the wet road and he was glad for it. The Shire was normally a safe and welcoming place even at night, but he had felt the change as he walked out into the rain.

Bilbo Baggins _never_ walked in the rain if he could help it. Bilbo Baggins was a considerate son who had lived all thirty-three years of his life without getting into a serious argument with his parents. Bilbo Baggins had just caused a minor scandal after being caught walking out with the blacksmith--a wandering dwarf no less--obviously, things were going to change.

It was this new Bilbo Baggins who knocked on the door of the smithy and heard the sound of heavy dwarrow boots scrambling on the floor before the wooden barrier was hastily flung open.

“Bilbo!” Fíli and Kíli greeted him enthusiastically and pulled him inside. They took the mackintosh off him and pushed him in front of the forge fire. Right next to Thorin Oakenshield--who looked fit to be tied at this latest development.

“We’ll be, um--”

“We’ll be packing and all that,” Fíli said, pulling his brother into the adjoining room that probably served as a bedroom. “You have a good long talk now!”

“Interfering striplings,” Thorin growled at their retreating backs.

The sight of Thorin had made Bilbo's heart beat a little faster. Even though he appeared to be angry at his nephews at the moment.

“Packing?” Bilbo asked, tucking his hands into his pockets so that he would not fidget too much. “You’ll be leaving soon then?”

“We always were going to leave,” Thorin said gruffly. “Before the roads flood or the snow starts.”

“Were you going to say good-bye?” Bilbo asked. In spite of his determination, he did not know if Thorin had intended to leave without informing him.

“You’re here now,” the blacksmith said, not even hiding the fact that he was avoiding the question.

“What if I don’t want to?” Bilbo found himself asking again, for it seemed that a good many people believed that they knew him better than he knew himself.

Thorin swung around to glare at Bilbo--anyone with less experience with the smith would have been cowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what if I don’t want to say good-bye because I want to go with you?”

After a few seconds of silence, Bilbo wondered if he ought to repeat himself.

“Do not jest!” Thorin said loudly. Interestingly enough, he seemed to be directing at the other room as well. “It is no laughing matter.”

“I’m not laughing,” Bilbo said quietly. “I’m asking to go with you, Thorin.”

The mention of his name seemed to make the dwarf jump.

“Go with us? On the road?” Thorin looked incensed now, bristling with undue defensiveness. “What do you know about roughing it in the wilderness? There are no soft beds or comfortable armchairs out there.”

Unwilling to back away, Bilbo looked Thorin square in the face--he had to tilt his head up to do so, but he suddenly realised that there was more to Thorin’s anger than met the eye. “I know that.”

“You won’t get seven meals a day. You might not know when the next meal is coming. What do you think of that?” Thorin challenged.

“I think you’re trying to scare me out of it.” Bilbo took a deep breath to calm himself--this was one confrontation he had to get through. “And I think that’s rather sweet, Thorin Oakenshield, but you won’t frighten me that easily.”

“Bilbo, think of your parents. You still _have_ parents.” There was an edge of desperation in Thorin’s voice now. “You’re their only son.”

“They’ll understand eventually.” His mother had. His father might come around eventually. Bilbo had to hope. “And it’s not your fault. I chose this. I’m _choosing_ to go with you.”

Dead silence greeted this proclamation. Even from the other room, where the absolute lack of noise seemed to imply that certain dwarves were holding their breath and trying not move.

“And me with nothing to offer you,” Thorin said at last. “Why would you even--”

“Because I don’t want to wake up to a cold bed and handful of lost opportunities when I’m fifty and stuck as Bachelor Baggins of Bag End,” Bilbo said, speaking quickly to curtail Thorin’s question. “I want _a lot_ more than just sneaking around with you behind a tree. The question is, are you willing to take me with you?”

“This is not how we do things among dwarves.”

“You’re in luck--I’m not a dwarf. Did I break some dwarvish rule or something by asking to go with you?” Bilbo asked.

“No!” chorused a pair of voices from the next room.

Thorin barked something in Khuzdul in the general direction of his nephews before turning back to Bilbo. “No, I only fear you will regret this one day.”

“You’ll have to let me be the judge of that,” Bilbo said, reaching out carefully to take Thorin’s hand. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow!” Fíli and Kíli called, sticking their heads into the main room.

“Tomorrow, when the rain stops. We do not have time for stragglers,” Thorin warned him. But his fingers curled around Bilbo’s hand--that was enough for now, Bilbo supposed.

“Hobbits are good at walking--we have these feet for a reason,” Bilbo informed him. “I’ll have to go back and pack.”

_And say good-bye to Mum. And Dad if he’ll let me._

“You shouldn’t keep walking out in the rain,” Fíli said, coming into the main room with a wide grin. “You should stay here until the rain stops.”

“Hobbits don’t melt in the rain either.”

“Oh no--it’s much too late to go out. You can have the bed,” Kíli offered eagerly.

“Much as I want to spank the pair of them, they are probably right,” Thorin said with an exasperated sigh.

His reputation was already in tatters, so Bilbo saw no reason to refuse. The dwarves’ bed was a low wooden platform they had constructed themselves to keep their bedrolls off the floor.

Fíli and Kíli hauled their bedrolls out, clearly intending to give their uncle and their guest some privacy.

“They’re really nice boys, but I don’t fancy doing anything noisy when they’re in the next room,” Bilbo said, flushing slightly as he sat down on the edge of the bed platform. “So why don’t you come here instead of standing there staring at me?”

“You’ve picked a fine time to be modest,” Thorin said, but he did sit down beside Bilbo. “I’m not sure if I am doing the right thing by you--you’re so young--”

“How long do you have?” Bilbo asked. “If it’s not too rude to ask.”

Thorin looked down at his hands. “That is something only the Maker knows.”

“I think I might have sixty years left in me. Have you got sixty years to spare?” Hobbits did not live as long as dwarves, but it was not his intention to hurt Thorin in any way.

“Perhaps,” Thorin said quietly. “Perhaps I do.”

“Then give me a tenth of that time and you can send me away if you don’t think I’m--if you get tired of me,” Bilbo said, shrinking inside.

“I will not take insult for you do not know our ways, Bilbo Baggins, but I am not a dishonourable dwarf,” Thorin said, looking solemn and strangely regal in the flickering candlelight. “Now sleep--you will need your rest if you are to journey with us.”

Thorin tucking him into bed was probably the most tender gesture they had shared to date. But Bilbo was not content enough to lie in the same bed, no. He daringly slipped his arm over Thorin’s chest and was pleasantly surprised when the dwarf turned onto his side and clasped Bilbo against him.

“ _Sleep_ ,” Thorin said in a voice that brooked no argument and Bilbo drifted off, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of his lover’s chest.

Wakefulness returned to him much earlier than usual. Probably because he was unused to sharing a bed. But here he was, sharing a bed with Thorin Oakenshield and not feeling any shame.

“The rain's stopped,” Bilbo said softly, aware that Thorin was awake as well by the stillness of the body next to him. He felt no desire to move because it was warm and comfortable under the blanket. Thorin was giving off heat like a forge and all Bilbo wanted was to was to tuck his feet up next to that warmth and doze off again.

"Yes, and the sun is rising." But Thorin did not stir from where he lay. "Are you sure about this, Bilbo?"

“For the last time, _yes_.” Bilbo opened his eyes and met Thorin's gaze across the inches that separated them. "I need to go and pack," he said, planting a kiss on the corner of Thorin's mouth. 

The dwarf reacted by tightening his hold around Bilbo's waist.

“Oh dear, we'll never get anything done like this,” Bilbo murmured as he brushed Thorin’s hair away from his face.

“You’re one to talk, Halfling,” Thorin growled at him even as he leaned into Bilbo’s hands.

"Maybe it's part of my clever plan to keep you in bed all day."

But they got out of bed eventually for Thorin still had to close up the smithy and Bilbo had to get his things and say his farewells.

Bilbo did not care if anyone saw him walk out of the smithy that morning, but his nerves were failing him as he walked up Bagshot Row to Bag End. Letting himself in quietly, he tried not to feel like an intruder in his own home as he rushed to pack his clothes.

To his surprise, he found a canteen and a sort of waterproof leather case on his desk with his maps. His mother’s doing, he had no doubt of it. Bilbo packed his maps and his most comfortable clothes into the rucksack, taking the more worn-out shirts rather than the ones for formal occasions. He dithered for a moment over his waistcoats and took just one.

Then came the hardest part of the morning. He went to find his parents. There was no one in the kitchen, but the dining table had been set for breakfast.

Of course, they had made breakfast. Bilbo stared at the breakfast table with its savoury offerings of sausage, eggs and bacon, well aware that dinner had been a long while ago.

 _Oh_. Oh, that was underhanded, that was. Bilbo's stomach grumbled at him. "No, no delays," he said to himself and headed for the study where his Dad sometimes had his morning cup of tea.

“Bilbo! Where’ve you been?” Bungo demanded, as Bilbo looked in. “Your mother wouldn’t say--” 

“Don’t be mad at Mum. I'm sorry, but I'm going now,” Bilbo said. “If I can, I’ll come back to visit--”

“Bilbo Baggins! Don’t do this!” His Dad followed him to the door, wringing his hands anxiously. “It’s not worth it--”

Bilbo really hoped that his Dad would understand one day. But that day was not going to be today. He left Bungo at the top of the garden and walked down the slope to where his Mum liked to be whenever she needed to be alone. 

His mother was prodding at the soil of their vegetable patch, basket by her side to collect cabbage and other autumnal products of the garden. “You’ve packed. Thought you might need this too,” she said, standing at his approach and passing him a packet wrapped in oilcloth. “First aid-kit and sewing kit. And some money.”

"Thanks, Mum," he said, a hard lump rising in his throat as he hugged her.

"Don't thank me yet," Belladonna warned him before she disentangled herself from him and pulled out half a loaf of bread and a sausage from her basket. “You haven’t even tried going a day without breakfast before.”

He tried not to cry at the sight of his Mum’s home-made bread. Belladonna had a suspicious gleam in her eyes that looked like supressed tears as he turned to leave. They both pretended not to see.

Stuffing sausage and bread into him mouth and wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he hurried down the road to Bywater--there was just one more thing to do before he left.

He caught Tansy just as she emerged from the door of the Townsends' _smial_ \--she had a laundry basket under her arm, obviously about to put the linens out to dry now that the rain had stopped.

"Tansy!" he called. Out of breath and unaccustomed to the weight of his pack, Bilbo lurched to a stop in front of her.

"Bilbo, it's a little early in the day for visiting," Tansy said. Her eyes widened as she took in his travelling things.

“Tansy--I’m going away,” Bilbo began and hesitated. 

“Away? To Bree-land? When will you be back?” she asked, bewilderment written on every feature.

“For a while I expect. Not to Bree-land, I think. But if I turn back, I’ll probably be Bachelor Baggins forever. I expect an invitation to the wedding if you become Tansy Took. Might not make it, but I’ll try,” Bilbo blurted out in a rush.

“Heavens, Bilbo, you make it sound like you’re leaving forever,” Tansy said, her otherwise smooth forehead furrowing as she tried to follow his babbling.

“I’m going to be a disgrace to the family name--or so Lobelia would say,” Bilbo said. “I’m leaving the Shire. To follow Thorin to the Blue Mountains. So I’m probably not going to get many wedding invitations, especially not from Lobelia.”

That was an oddly cheering thought.

“Lobelia can put her wedding invitations into Otho’s pipe and smoke them for all I care,” Tansy declared. She looked unusually worried though. “Bilbo, are you sure about this? Your parents--”

“Mum’s a little more understanding than Dad, but I think I have to take this chance,” Bilbo replied. “Look in on my parents, will you? And I’ll write if I can find a way to send messages back.”

“You’re going to be a little more than just disreputable after this, Bilbo Baggins,” Tansy said, shaking her head ruefully. She flung her arms around him and bussed him soundly on the cheek despite his bulky baggage. “You be careful now and have lots of adventures so that I can tell people I knew the crazy Baggins boy.”

“I’ll tell you all about them if I can,” he promised before giving her a fond squeeze in farewell.

And he was off again, this time to catch up with Thorin and his nephews.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Steerpike13713 for betaing and putting up with me~


	5. Shorter Days, Longer Nights

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Closing up the smithy was a relatively simple task. The anvil, the bellows and the larger hammer and tongs belonged to the smithy and no real blacksmith would dream of taking them. Their own tools and weapons made up the bulk of their packs. They would tidy up the place and close the door so that debris and rain would not blow in. The only thing they would leave behind was a small rune mark on the wall to inform other dwarrow smiths that this was a good place to work.

What silver they had was distributed amongst the three of them and carried under their tunics in specially designed pockets. The copper coins they would keep on hand to buy supplies.

Fíli and Kíli had insisted on making a sign out of a wooden plank and painting _Closed for the Season_ on it neatly before nailing it to the door. Thorin suspected that they had done it partly to show off their new language skills and partly because they had liked the little-hole-in-the-hill smithy. It was a step up from most other lodgings they had had to date, being neither leaky nor infested with vermin.

They received a pie from the baker in Bywater as a going-away gift. Master Goodbody had just finished baking his first batch of the morning when he saw them about to leave. His sister-sons were profuse in their thanks as usual whenever food was involved.

They did not see Bilbo when they arrived at the junction formed by the Great East Road and the smaller road running north to Hobbiton. 

“Maybe he’s delayed?” Fíli suggested, looking down the road and seeing no familiar face.

“Maybe he stopped to take a bath?” Kíli said, “Or maybe he needs to be rescued?”

The Bagginses did not look like people that Bilbo needed to be rescued from, for all that some of his relatives sounded unpleasant from what little he had said of them.

“--he could have fallen along the way and can’t get up,” the younger of his sister-sons was saying worriedly.

“He will catch up with us or be left behind,” Thorin said firmly. Bilbo had promised, after all.

“He’s never travelled before--”

“He will learn or be left behind.” The enormity of taking the hobbit along with him before the undertaking was done was hitting him. Repeatedly, now that he had more time to think on it. 

On the road to Waymeet, doubt stole in like an old friend. It had been a constant in Thorin Oakenshield’s life since the ousting of his people from Erebor. Accepting the hobbit had been one of the most impulsive decisions he had made while not actually in a towering rage. 

Impulsiveness had seldom led to good things in Thorin’s experience.

It was probably _the_ most impulsive decision of Bilbo Baggins’ life. Who could blame the hobbit for taking one look at his comfortable home and deciding that it was not worth giving up for the dubious company of a dwarrow smith and an uncertain future?

Thorin Oakenshield, for one, but his opinions might not matter if the hobbit did not turn up. Perhaps his parents had talked him out of it . . .

“We should wait for him,” Fíli said, already slowing his steps.

“He could be lost!”

Thorin turned to look behind him, ready to chastise his sister-sons for dragging their feet.

Kíli and Fíli were still walking, but they looked defiantly sulky. The line of Durin had perfected sullen broodiness centuries ago and this generation did not lack opportunities for practice.

“ _Don’t be such children_ ,” Thorin said in his mother tongue.

Two pairs of eyes bore into him and two pairs of hands started to move.

_The Seven Fathers were laid down in the earth . . ._

Thorin averted his eyes and looked at the road ahead, concentrating on the noises around them so that they would not be taken unawares by a wagon or a team of ponies.

So he did eventually hear a very recognisable voice, rather breathless, calling to them from behind. 

“Thorin! Kíli! Fíli! Wait!”

The universe was out to prove Thorin wrong that day. He just could not be angry about it this time as he turned to see the hobbit running down the road towards them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Catching up with the dwarves would not have been a problem if not for the fact that Bilbo was burdened with his travelling rucksack and the clanking of the water canteen bouncing off his hip.

And there was that bit about avoiding people on the way to Bywater. He had had enough of confrontations and good-byes that morning and the very sound of Lobelia’s voice just on the horizon was enough to make him dive into the hedgerows. He stayed as silent as a hobbit could be until the Bracegirdle sisters were out of earshot.

It would not be a chore for him to say good-bye to them, but his departure did not need to be today’s news. Nor did they need to start speculating about him over their tea.

Dodging and weaving his way along the path, Bilbo made it to the smithy--only to find that the dwarves had put up a sign and gone. 

Bilbo stamped his feet and swore about the impatience of a certain dwarf who would not be named and ran down the Great East Road towards Michel Delving in the west until he found the three travellers he was looking for--though he almost missed them at first.

They had looked taller because of the height of their packs and appeared to be carrying the contents of a small armoury and a tool shed on their persons. Bilbo realised that their baggage must have weighed at least twice of what he carried.

“Bilbo!” Kíli and Fíli promptly seized him around the middle as though he had been gone for a season instead of a few hours.

Thorin had an odd look in his eyes and Bilbo was not counting on any public displays of affection from _that_ direction. So he was pleasantly surprised when the older dwarf clapped him on the back--actually his pack--and commented that he looked reasonably equipped.

“ _For a hobbit_ , I’ll bet you were going to say,” Bilbo said with some asperity.

“For an unseasoned traveller,” Thorin said mildly before pushing on.

The Great East Road was certainly not unpopulated. Farmers, merchants, hobbits bound for Michel Delving and even a group of elves were out and about that morning. 

It was all Bilbo could do to keep his eyes in his head as he gawked openly at the elves on their graceful steeds when a party of them rode past. Thorin did not look pleased, giving the elves a wide berth as they trotted by, no doubt heading west towards their settlements beyond Michel Delving and the borders of the Shire.

“Thorin doesn’t seem to like elves,” Bilbo said to Fíli and Kíli. “Is it something I should--”

“No, he does not like elves,” Fíli said with a warning shake of his head and that was the end of that conversation as they neared the town of Waymeet.

They bought provisions at Waymeet for they were not passing through Michel Delving and travel supplies might be harder to come by later. Their supplies consisted of dry-cured bacon--a large hunk of it--hardtack, onions and dried peas.

“That’s not a varied diet,” Bilbo said dubiously. “Nor is it particularly nutritious or fibrous.”

“That’s what the onions are for,” Thorin said with the first traces of what looked suspiciously like amusement in his eyes. “And we’ll be walking enough to get all the exercise you’ll need.”

“I can see that,” Bilbo said, trying not to go pink at the ear-tips. “I suppose I could forage . . .”

Thorin appeared set on making sure they were well-exercised, for they moved on once the haggling was done. Taking the road north, they would skirt the Rushock Bog on the way to the border town of Needlehole. It was a more isolated route compared to the road to Michel Delving and there were no elves there.

They ate lunch on the move, polishing off the meat pie that the dwarves had received from the baker. Bilbo licked up every crumb of short-crust pastry, suddenly very conscious that he might not get to eat a pie like that for a while.

Flanked by the bog on their east side and the gentle slopes that would eventually form the White Downs on the other, they did not come across more travellers or any more civilisation until they sighted the weathered old sign that pointed them towards Needlehole.

After the many miles he had walked, Bilbo was quite glad to be near a town again and he would have hurried ahead if not for Thorin’s abrupt gesture--aimed as it turned out, at his nephews.

Quick as a wink, Kíli had his bow out and directed at the scrubby woodlands. He loosed an arrow before Bilbo was even aware of what was happening. Fíli bounded towards where the arrow had flown and picked up a furry bundle from the long grass--it was a rather large adult rabbit.

“You’re going to eat it?” Bilbo asked when Fíli rejoined them. He had gone with his cousins to check their snares while staying over in Tookborough and they usually brought back a few hares and one or two conies. Then there would be jugged hare or rabbit stew for supper after the cooks skinned the animals.

“Not like this--it’s too lean,” Kíli explained. “We need to cook it with other stuff to make a proper meal out of it.”

“Gran always said that you couldn’t grow fat on rabbit,” Bilbo said, dredging up this bit of old wisdom from whatever he remembered of his grandmother.

“Can’t live on rabbit for long, that’s for certain,” Thorin said. “Come along now, it’s growing dark.”

The sun was setting as they neared the small township. Bilbo did not like the thought of the bog or the forest in the dark, but even Thorin had not anticipated the small rockslide that came down the slope that hemmed the narrowest part of the road just as they passed through.

“Ambush!” Fíli cried, frantically dodging the stones and clods of earth that rained down on them. Knocked clean off his feet by the tumble of rocks, Bilbo rolled and covered his head instinctively, partially stunned by the suddenness of it all and frightened out of his wits. 

Kíli yelled something in Khuzdul and Bilbo forced himself to look up as the young dwarves charged past him, swords out and screaming dwarrow battle cries.

Levering himself up off the ground on shaking limbs, Bilbo saw the shadowy shapes of Men on the slope through the dust. These Big Folk looked like desperate characters and they were wielding clubs and rocks in a most unfriendly manner. They were definitely _not_ the welcoming party for Needlehole.

“Bandits! Bilbo--where are you? Stay under cover!” Thorin’s voice grounded him in the present again and Bilbo tried to make sense of what was going on.

There appeared to be three extremely menacing humans on the slope overlooking the road--all the better to tip rocks onto unwary travellers, Bilbo thought as he scanned the area in a state of mild panic. Thorin was cursing a blue streak from where he stood in the middle of the trail with Kíli and Fíli’s abandoned packs. Kíli’s bow lay on the ground, its string broken in the initial rock-fall and useless in a fight. 

On closer inspection, Bilbo realised that the dwarf was trapped--his left foot immobilised under a pile of rocks. His first instinct was to move towards Thorin even as the would-be bandits threw more stones at Kíli and Fíli. Most of them missed, but a few of them landed on the road around Thorin and Bilbo.

“Bilbo! I told you to get under cover!” Thorin was glaring at him as he tried to get free with little success. A few rocks bounced off the back of Bilbo’s canvas rucksack as he skidded to a halt in front of the dwarf, but the hobbit was not injured. In fact, he was shucking off his baggage and gathering up some of the smaller stones from the ground, too breathless to speak. A sudden cry from above them told him that Fíli and Kíli had reached the humans and were giving as good as they got. 

Bilbo did not have time to reassure Thorin as he readied his makeshift weapons and turned to scramble up the incline.

After years of keeping watch over the new seedlings in the vegetable garden and a boyhood spent under the unorthodox tutorship of his Took cousins, Bilbo Baggins was an excellent shot and the local birds would usually take off if they saw him bending down to pick up a pebble.

Humans were much larger targets than birds and the bandits found that they had more than just a pair of charging dwarves to worry about as they were pelted with rocks. Bilbo could not throw very large stones while running up the slope, but his small missiles were launched with unerring accuracy at the faces of their attackers.

One of the bandits was already down, but the largest man had managed grab Fíli by the scruff to use as a shield against his brother. Fíli was having none of it and was biting and kicking for all he was worth. Bilbo’s attack kept the other bandit preoccupied when he managed to hit the man in the eye.

Thus distracted, the pair of ruffians could not keep track of Kíli, who managed to stab the tallest man in the thigh with his blade.

Howling imprecations, the bandit flung Fíli away and Bilbo found himself seeing red as the young dwarf slammed into a tree. The next rock caught the robber right in the face to give him a nosebleed to match his thigh injury. The man’s accomplice had managed to catch hold of Kíli’s sword, but the dwarf simply let go of his weapon and ran at the bandit, headbutting him in a very sensitive place indeed.

Bent over double and using language the likes of which Bilbo had never heard before, the brigand narrowly missed being skewered by an arrow. Down on the road below, Thorin had managed to get his hands on Kíli’s bow and restrung it with the speed born of desperation. In the deepening twilight, the dwarves would have the advantage of being able to see better in the dark on their side.

The arrow was the last straw. The two remaining bandits stopped swearing and stumbled off into the forest to get out of range of the dwarven bow. They knew that they were outmatched and were unwilling to risk their lives any further. Upon closer inspection, Bilbo realised that the third member of their felonious band was unlikely to get up anytime soon. He had never seen someone killed in battle before, but the amount of blood on the ground told him that the bandit was dead. The dwarven blades had probably found his vital organs early in the fight. 

The robbers would have killed them if they had the chance, Bilbo knew, but it did not make him feel any better. He swallowed his rising gorge and went to see if anyone was seriously hurt.

"Kíli! Are you all right?" Bilbo asked as he spied the dwarf coming back to the road after making sure that the bandits were still running away.

"I got that last one right in the trousers," Kíli said proudly. Then he looked worried. "Does that mean I gave him head?"

Bilbo had to lean against a tree as a bout of inappropriate mirth overtook him. He sounded a little hysterical to his own ears, but what peace-loving hobbit would not be after that fight? He had probably been channelling his Tookish ancestors, but they never stuck around long, more was the pity. The enormity of what he had just done was creeping up on him and he did not feel very much like a Baggins that day.

A shadow fell over him and Bilbo realised that Thorin had excavated his foot from the small rockslide and limped up to him. The older dwarf was looking at him worriedly along with Fíli, who looked remarkably unscathed despite his encounter with the tree.

"Think he hit his head or something?" Fíli asked, his brow wrinkling in concern.

In between wheezing and trying to calm himself down, Bilbo reassured them that he was fine--hobbits were pretty tough, did they not know?

Of course, Kíli had to repeat his question and Thorin got that odd pinch-faced look that Bilbo now recognised and immediately dubbed as Heroically Suppressing Laughter. Fíli was less reserved and joined Bilbo on the ground until Thorin growled that they were alerting everyone in the vicinity to their presence.

When they had pulled themselves together and retrieved their packs without further incident, Bilbo insisted on checking everyone for injuries despite Thorin’s insistence that he had been in more severe rock-falls. In the face of this dwarven stubbornness, Bilbo stood his ground and nagged them into submission.

They bound Thorin’s ankle up because it was starting to swell. Fíli was a little bruised from being thrown against a tree, but he was young and he would recover. His brother’s head was apparently as hard as a rock and he was not even dizzy after headbutting someone in the trousers.

“And what of yourself?” Thorin asked when Bilbo would let him get a word in edgewise.

“I’m quite all right--” To Bilbo’s dismay, his stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. Even being attacked by human bandits was not enough to make him forget that it was well past teatime. He was also rather ashamed to find his appetite returning so quickly after witnessing bloodshed.

“We’ll get some supper in town,” Fíli assured him. “Scrapping always makes people hungry.”

“We don’t usually get attacked by bandits either,” Kíli added despite his uncle’s scowl. “But you showed them, Bilbo.”

“Hobbits are better with ranged weapons,” Bilbo said, embarrassed. “We don’t get opportunities to show it though. I mean, we’ve never had _bandits_ in the Shire before.” 

_Just those horrible wolves during the Fell Winter_ , his memory prompted him. The Bucklanders had demonstrated then that not all hobbits were peace-loving, harmless creatures just waiting to be eaten.

“These were amateurs,” Thorin said grimly. “They had a good plan, but did not count on anyone being able to fight them off after their ambush with the rocks.”

“We need to alert everyone as quickly as possible then!” Bilbo exclaimed. He had a responsibility towards the Shire and his fellow hobbits after all. If there were more bandits sulking about their borders, then perhaps the Bucklanders would flush them out. “But I’m not sure if there’s a Shirriff in Needlehole . . .”

Thorin shouldered his pack without even wincing at the added weight on his ankle. “Then we should seek ways to send messages to your local authorities in town.”

By the time their small party made it through the boundary of the settlement, true night had fallen. Needlehole was a border town that resembled a smaller version of Bree--only rougher according to the dwarves. There was a horse-trader with a decent-sized stable, a smithy with a dwarrow blacksmith and a tavern. Along the northern outskirts were small camps of travellers who could not afford rooms in town.

Thorin looked at the inn attached to the tavern and opted to camp outside when he heard their room rates. Bilbo was not entirely convinced of the benefits of camping in the open while the weather was still not bitterly cold. It was the first time he had seen dwarrow parsimony in action and he doubted that it would be the last.

Plucking up his courage once more, Bilbo spoke with the owner of the inn, who directed him towards a pair of grim-faced men seated at the back of the tavern. They were Rangers, the innkeeper informed him, some sort of fighters from the north. The locals could send for the Shirriffs and some big dogs, but that might take a day or two to organise, so he could try his luck with the Rangers first.

The Rangers listened to his tale without a change in expression and told him curtly that they would look into the matter. They appeared to be made of boiled leather and were very dour indeed, but Bilbo got the impression that they were definitely more dangerous than the trio of bandits they had encountered just outside Needlehole.

“They seem to know their business,” Thorin said, scrutinising the pair after Bilbo had reported the matter to them and scuttled back to the relative safety of his dwarven companions. “The Rangers can probably track down the bandits even though they have a head start.”

Bilbo was not as certain of the Rangers as Thorin was, but it was the best he could manage at the moment. He also had to face the prospect of roughing it out in the open for the first time in his life.

The encampments to the north of Needlehole were comprised of humans and a scattering of dwarves. Some complex signalling was going on amongst the dwarves as they passed by and Thorin stopped to speak to one particular group. Bilbo desperately wished that he could duck out of sight though--his experiences with the Big Folk had been mostly negative so far.

“Wandering tinkers and travelling folk. We see them sometimes on the main roads to the east and they usually have to go north or south to reach the Blue Mountains,” Fíli said to Bilbo in a low voice when he noticed him staring. “But Thorin’s spoken to them and they say that the men are mostly all right.”

A venerable dwarf with a beard almost long enough to tuck into his belt pointed them towards a space bracketed on one side by a small caravan and a small number of tents on the other. He and Thorin conversed in Khuzdul for a spell and the other dwarves respectfully gave way before them as they walked on. 

“Afi--he’s like the head of their clan--said that we can sleep there tonight,” Kíli translated. “And if we contribute something to the communal pot, we can eat with them too.” 

The travellers had clumped together around the largest fire-pit. Dwarves and humans alike jostled each other in a rough but friendly manner as they formed a line in front of a group of women. They were cooking something that smelt savoury in a large cast-iron pot. Afi had a word with the cooks and got them bowls of stew in exchange for an onion and the rabbit Kíli had shot earlier. It was a good and hearty mixture, despite Bilbo not really knowing what sort of meat was inside--the bulk of it was made of thankfully recognisable potatoes and carrots stewed in brown gravy.

“Possibly squirrel. Or rabbit,” Fíli informed Bilbo when he asked. He pulled out a small bone from his mouth and squinted at it. “With a few fish heads and small birds thrown in for added flavour.”

“Oh . . . it’s quite nice, really,” Bilbo said, resolving not to be too curious about the food in the future. He was already feeling out of his depth, sitting around a fire finishing his dinner with ragged children and stray dogs chasing each other around him. The dwarves just pushed the dogs away whenever they got too near, unfazed by their lolling tongues and sharp teeth.

“ _Hobbit_ ,” one human child of indeterminate sex said, thrusting its grimy face close to Bilbo’s. “It’s almost as small as Nan--”

“Breda, don’t bother the others like that!” A pair of arms plucked the child away and a rather thin human face looked down at him. “Why, it _is_ a hobbit! What’s it doin’ here then?”

“Travelling, ma’am,” Bilbo managed to say despite his surprise at being addressed in this manner.

“An’ I thought you lot lived in liddle holes in the ground!” the woman exclaimed. “Or in nice houses in town!”

“He’s with us, miss.” Fíli slung an arm over Bilbo’s shoulders and grinned disarmingly at the human before he could clarify that hobbits did live in holes in the ground. “We’re nice people too.”

“Oh no, you won’t be foolin’ any girls here with your pretty manners,” the woman said, but she was smiling as she spoke and Bilbo realised that she was not that old after all under her rather faded dress and several layers of shawls. She was very likely the older sister of the child named Breda, who was still squirming about in her arms.

“I’ll give it a try, love, just for you,” Fíli said with a broad wink.

“You can _try_ ,” the lass said cheerfully. “But I’ve already got someone ta dance with at the bonfire tonight.”

Fíli perked up at this news. “What bonfire might that be?”

“The townies are havin’ a party--an’ if there’s cheap grog, everyone’ll be there e’en if we get chased out later,” the girl said, managing to throw a wink over her shoulder as she carried her younger sister away. “Hush now, Breda, we’re goin’ ta see the dancin’.”

“I’ll play a tune for you and your lad!” Fíli called after them. Bilbo could see the other dwarves rolling their eyes and elbowing each other as they watched the display. It had obviously been meant as play and nothing serious, but he had to wonder how often Fíli had flirted with human females to be so adapt at conversing with them.

“She said there was a party tonight?” Kíli asked as he watched a few other travellers walking in the direction of the town square.

“Sounds like it . . . Maybe we should go have a look? I mean, we’re not banned from going into town.” The younger dwarves turned to Thorin, who looked at Bilbo and sighed at the hopeful expression on his face.

“It’s a local celebration,” the elderly dwarf named Afi said in Westron. “They mainly go for the dancing and the ale is going at ha’penny a pint. Even the tinkers get to gawk for a while before any of the locals grumble about them.”

“Very well, but it’s obvious that we’re not going for the dancing,” Thorin said as he looked pointedly at his nephews. 

“You don’t have to, not while your ankle is like that,” Bilbo said to Thorin as the dwarves escorted him into town. Kíli and Fíli were leading the way with their fiddles in hand, all high spirits and youthful enthusiasm. If Bilbo had not known any better, he would not have believed that they had been fighting for their lives just a few hours ago.

“This might be the last time you see a party for the rest of the year,” Thorin said as they walked towards the sounds of merriment. “Needlehole is the last settlement of hobbits for miles around. You might want to enjoy it before the journey gets rougher.”

 _Rougher . . . oh dear._ Bilbo did not like the sound of that at all. But they came to the rough clearing formed by the sparse main buildings of Needlehole and the cheery scene pushed all thoughts of hardship out of Bilbo’s mind.

There was a large log fire with a few smaller ones scattered around the optimistically named town square. Tables had been set out and ale was indeed going for a ha’penny per pint according to the hobbits manning the stalls. There were jacket potatoes roasting in the fires and candied apples being distributed to the youngsters. A group of musicians were tuning up their instruments to the delight of the hobbits gathered there. Some of the travelling dwarves were present as well, drawn by the prospect of ale and an evening’s entertainment.

The Rangers were doing very good impressions of statues as they leaned against the wall of the tavern. Bilbo thought that they should go and be menacing at bandits instead, but the men soon melted away from the scene like ghosts and he thought no more about them.

“Oh, it’s some kind of bonfire night for the end of the season, I think,” Bilbo said, brightening up as he soaked in the party-like atmosphere. Hobbit traditions did differ from town to town, but his people liked a good knees-up with plenty of alcohol and food to go with it during their celebrations.

The musicians got their act together and some couples started dancing around the bonfire in a pattern that Bilbo recognised. He wondered if dwarves had any dances of their own. Bilbo was no great dancer, but he enjoyed watching. 

A pair of hobbit matrons then brought out an old besom and laid it on the ground in front of the central fire. This was cause for some excitement and the locals started to clap rhythmically.

“What are they doing, Bilbo?” Kíli asked as a few couples lined up and started to hop over the besom.

“They’re jumping the broom. It’s a very old sort of traditional marriage ceremony,” Bilbo said, feeling his cheeks going warm again as Thorin looked his way. “I’ve read about it . . . When they don’t have much time or money for elaborate celebrations, a couple might jump the broom together. Or they’ll put it across the door of their new house and jump over it to signify a new beginning . . .”

He trailed off because Thorin was still looking at him and his stare was pinning him to the spot. 

“A hand-fasting ritual,” Thorin mused. A human couple had just danced their way over the broom to much applause. His nephews were cheering them on as loudly as the hobbits were.

“Very old fashioned and yet rather appealing to some. Lobelia Bracegirdle would turn her nose up at it, I’m sure, but Lobelia turns her nose up at everything. I don’t think there’s anything she actually approves of unless it’s something she thought of herself . . .” Bilbo knew he was babbling, but he could not stop himself from prattling on.

“Would you be willing to jump the broom with me?” Thorin asked, effectively derailing Bilbo’s train of thought and shutting him up for more than five seconds.

“Are you sure?” Bilbo asked as everything else in the universe became background noise. Even Fíli and Kíli whooping and jumping up and down beside him could not distract him from Thorin at that point in time. Lobelia Bracegirdle could have appeared in front of him and he would not have _cared_ , transfixed as he was by Thorin’s eyes. “I don’t want you to think you owe it to me or--”

“I have not been sure of much these last few years, but this might be the first time I’ve chosen to do something just because I wanted to. If you’ll have me, I will,” Thorin said awkwardly. 

_Oh._ Bilbo felt his heart swell in his chest. 

“You’re not going to be doing any hopping on that ankle of yours, so you’d better take my hand,” Bilbo said, suiting his actions to his words and extending his arm.

Thorin’s firm grip on his hand told him that this was _real_ and not some figment of his imagination. Bilbo always had a very good imagination, but he had certainly never imagined _this_ before. 

Bilbo’s heart was going like the clappers and the inside of his mouth was as dry as dust, but his legs remained strangely steady as he walked alongside Thorin. Kíli and Fíli were beaming at them in open approval while the other watchers were blinking in surprise, but they all appeared very far away and muted. There was only Thorin, here and now, in the present with him, Bilbo Baggins, about to jump over an ancient besom on the night of his departure from his old life.

Thorin was probably older than anyone else who had approached the broom and Bilbo realised that most of the hobbit couples were younger than his thirty-three years. But in that moment, he felt ageless and oddly light on his feet as he moved forward with Thorin’s hand in his.

They stepped over the broom. It felt _right_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by staring very hard at maps of MIddle-Earth and the Shire and trying to estimate distances. 
> 
> A big thank you to Steerpike13713 for beta-ing three drafts of this part and putting up with my whinging about issues like _how the heck did they keep humans out of the Shire any way?_ In conclusion, Rangers really do have the worst security guard detail in Middle Earth.


	6. Mountains in the Distance

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thorin Oakenshield should have been used to being wrong, but his Maker seemed to think that he could do with more surprises in his life. The chain of unexpected events that began the day he met Bilbo Baggins had thrown some extremely interesting complications into his plans.

He had not thought that he could want someone so much. It was the only explanation for his behaviour. Taking a sheltered hobbit away from his home and embroiling him in this sort of trouble was not his original intent. Bilbo was not a fighter. Nor was he used to death and violence. Thorin would not have blamed him if he had run for the forest and hid when they had been ambushed. 

But things were never what they seemed when it came to Bilbo Baggins.

Thorin had been alarmed, then surprised when the hobbit had leapt in front of him and promptly launched an all-out offensive against the bandits. Bilbo Baggins did not lack nerve. In fact, it was the sort of blind bravery that most of the sagas were made of. If Thorin had not already been in love with Bilbo’s spirit, he might have fallen for his courage. 

Bilbo then reverted to his usual self and fussed over them like a broody hen. Relieved that Bilbo and his sister-sons were safe, Thorin had subsided and let the hobbit have his way.

Looking at Bilbo now, staring dubiously at the contents of his stew, no-one could tell that this was a hobbit that had attacked fully-grown humans with nothing but a handful of rocks.

It made Thorin think of what Fíli and Kíli had suggested again at the bonfire celebration. 

The gender disparity amongst his race meant that female dwarves were rare and a wedding was something to be celebrated extravagantly, with many gifts heaped onto the couple to assure their future and the future of their potential children. 

But if a dwarf sought the companionship of another dwarf and chose to move to his hall or become one of his clan, both dwarves would contribute a large gift to the family he was leaving. It was to acknowledge the sacrifice of the parents and the loss of a pair of strong hands, but never to _buy_ a son. 

No dwarf would ever imply that a family member could be bought so cheaply and the gift had to be from both dwarves to show that the union was a consensual partnership between skilled individuals who could fend for themselves. There was usually not much fanfare and obviously no children would result, but at least they could spend the rest of their lives together. _Working along the same seam_ , some called it for the tradition was commonly thought to have originated amongst miners. Being extremely private individuals, no dwarf would ask about the details of such a relationship unless something urgent cropped up.

Thorin had never found anyone to partner him after Erebor had been taken. He had not searched actively for a companion to share his life with, but his prospects had been slim to none when he had become a pauper overnight. He had nothing to give and anything he earned went towards his family and their followers.

While they had not broken any laws, they had broken with _tradition_ when Bilbo had insisted on coming with them. It was not wrong to seek companionship but he felt that he was being a terrible example by taking an only son away from his parents. 

The Bagginses had been odd for a family of hobbits, having only one child instead of a brood of children running around underfoot. Who would take care of his parents in their dotage? It was not a matter of _money_ because the Bagginses were obviously well-to-do, but Bilbo would have to survive long enough to go back to his parents to show that he was not suffering and that he was being taken care of.

That was the first of Thorin’s problems. Bilbo had only seen a fraction of the hardships his people faced. It was going to be an uphill struggle to adjust and Thorin had no illusions that Bilbo Baggins would return to Bag End the same plump and naïve young hobbit he had been when he had left. 

_Yes, this is still your son. Minus ten pounds of puppy fat and incidentally, did you know that he nearly killed a man with a rock?_

Thorin had not lied though--he was not a dishonourable dwarf and the only thing he could do now was to make sure that Bilbo knew that he was not going to be cast aside.

If hobbits required a hand-fasting to bind them together, then Thorin would oblige because he would do the right thing by Bilbo--and by extension Bilbo’s parents. 

It felt surreal that something as simple as stepping over a broomstick was the local equivalent of a hand-fasting ritual--and yet it was oddly fitting given the setting. The hobbits had paused for a moment when they saw one of their own with a dwarf, but it was too late to turn back now. 

Thorin clasped Bilbo’s hand just a little more tightly as they stepped-over the broom. His sister-sons’ enthusiasm was infectious and everyone was soon clapping and stamping their feet as another couple followed them over the broom, the single oddity of the night almost forgotten.

This also resulted in a very flushed hobbit, pink to his ear-tips and all the more endearing because of it. But he did not let go of Thorin’s hand as they retreated back into shadows. Thorin would have asked if he wanted to stay to watch the rest of the bonfire celebrations, but the insistent tugging on his arm told him that Bilbo had other ideas.

“Let’s not give everyone something to talk about,” Bilbo said as he drew them aside.

“Your people do not approve?”

“Hobbits are not known to jump the broom with dwarves,” Bilbo said with a wry smile. “You don’t usually see two male hobbits jumping the broom together either. But my mother always said that if you’re going to scandalise the village, you might as well shock the whole Shire as well.”

“And you are all right with that?” Thorin asked. Dwarrows were not keen on public displays on the whole, but they also cared a lot less about what the other races thought about them. Bilbo Baggins appeared to have burned his bridges with his community.

“I think I’m a lot happier when I’m not thinking about what other people are thinking about me,” Bilbo said, a shade belligerently. “What do they know about you and me anyhow? My Mum thinks you’re decent enough and that’s worth more than a written commendation from the Thain and a parade led by the Mayor.”

 _That_ was the sort of sentiment Thorin could understand. Family was the most important thing after all and Mistress Baggins’ goodwill counted for something despite her husband’s disapproval.

So it was not that surprising that he gave into his feelings and embraced Bilbo, fully intent on showing him how much he appreciated the sacrifices he was making in coming with them. Even if Bilbo had almost given him a heart attack on the road earlier that evening with that ridiculous, utterly splendid show of courage.

“In public? Whatever’s gotten into you?” Bilbo asked breathlessly, “And do you suppose those two nephews of yours can stay out of trouble for a while?”

Fíli and Kíli had better stay out of trouble, Thorin thought. By the look of it, they were currently finagling their way into the group of musicians and would probably be safe for an hour or so if they stuck to playing tunes for the reels and jigs.

They were not the only ones looking for a quiet corner to celebrate in private that night. Bilbo and Thorin found that of the available most nooks and crannies were occupied and they fetched up in a very familiar position behind some trees on the outskirts of town.

“Thorin . . . when we get to your mountain, we’re going to do this in a room. On a _bed_ , with your clothes off for once,” Bilbo said, his mouth swollen by kisses and his curls mussed up in a most becoming fashion. “With _all_ of our clothes off and preferably strewn all over the floor.”

Thorin could not help but agree as his imagination painted a mental picture of what events would lead to their clothes being strewn all over the floor. And a bed would be much more comfortable than the tree trunk he was leaning against. He could _make_ a bed. It would not be a grand affair, but it would have to be wide and stable enough for the activities he had in mind.

“A bed, yes, in a proper room,” Thorin agreed as he helped Bilbo unbutton his trousers. 

“I don’t mind the view of the stars, really, but it’s going to be more than a little chilly in a month or so . . . Oh drat these laces!” Bilbo muttered as he tugged at the fastenings of Thorin’s breeches. “A lantern or a candle would be nice too.”

“Duly noted.” Thorin added candle sconces to their ideal room plan and helped Bilbo to sort out the knots.

They did not have what they needed for the activities they wanted to try out, Thorin thought regretfully as they sank down to the ground with Bilbo straddling his lap in a most distracting way. He was not by any means a patient dwarf, but he had been holding back for more than a month already, contenting himself with touches, kisses and the wonderful new experience of using his mouth to explore Bilbo in as many ways as he could.

They really needed a bed if Thorin was going to change that to _in every way possible_. But for now, he leaned back and shuddered as Bilbo used both his hands to bring them together.

“A bit of oil would not go amiss,” Bilbo said, running his thumb over the head of Thorin’s cock. “Oh dear--we appear to be making a shopping list.”

“We’ll buy some because it’ll be necessary,” Thorin growled, thinking about other uses for that oil. His hands slipped down to the hobbit’s rounded backside and pulled him closer so that their erections would rub against each other.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Bilbo said, rocking himself against Thorin and making them both moan wordlessly. “I want you inside me so much--we should do it like this because I want to see you when I take you in--”

That mental image of the hobbit riding him drove Thorin over the edge and the stars he saw then were not to be found on any map of the heavens. 

Through the post-coital haze, Thorin realised that Bilbo was squirming about on his lap and practically begging for completion. He managed to get his hand between them and Bilbo’s groan was practically indecent when he touched him. The hobbit was so close that it only took a few strokes for him to finish, gasping and shaking against Thorin’s chest.

“I will definitely hold you to that,” Thorin said fervently when he was able to speak properly. They were both sticky, sweaty and covered in bark chips and bits of leaves, but there was no place in Middle-Earth he would rather be.

“I’m a hobbit of my word,” Bilbo murmured against Thorin’s collarbone. “See if I don’t jump you the moment we get a private space to ourselves.”

Thorin could only smile fondly at his hobbit as they got to their feet and went to find his sister-sons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo woke up stiff and aching, and almost uncomfortably warm. The reason for this became apparent when he opened his eyes and saw that he was buried under a blanket, Thorin’s coat and what looked like either Fíli or Kíli’s bedroll.

Crawling out of his improvised cocoon, Bilbo was greeted by the sight of Thorin sparring with his nephews on the other side of their campfire. They were using their private sign language again, silent except for the clang of steel against steel. It was oddly mesmerising to watch them moving like extremely lethal dancers in the morning mist. Bilbo was so entranced that he did not even nag Thorin about taking care of his ankle.

Thorin looked to be holding his own against the younger dwarves though. If Fíli and Kíli were going easy on their injured kinsman, it did not show in ferocity of their strikes. 

“Bilbo! You’re up!” Kíli called. This put a halt to the training session and the dwarves started to dish out something that looked like pease pottage for breakfast. One of them had probably started cooking when they woke up.

It _was_ pease pottage, flavoured with bits of bacon and eaten with a piece of hardtack which also served as a spoon. Bilbo resolved to learn to wake up earlier so that he could help with the cooking. He offered to do the washing-up and learned to make do without any soap or sponges by watching the travellers. They used handfuls of sand to scrub their pots before rinsing them in the nearby stream.

As it transpired, there was a very small morning market in Needlehole. They would go see if there were any more supplies to be bought and Bilbo volunteered to do the haggling while Kíli and Fíli served as porters. Thorin would consult the local blacksmith about the condition of the roads to the north.

There was some dried meat and smoked fish for sale and Bilbo set to bargaining with a will. He was also pleased to see two local farmers selling their produce in the town square. 

Bilbo knew that he was probably being extravagant by Thorin’s standards, having bought a box of tea, a slab of butter and three eggs on top of whatever autumnal vegetables that the stall keepers had to spare. But it was _his_ money after all and they all would have an egg with breakfast the next day as well as a proper supper that night. They could not depend on finding other travellers to share a meal with all the time.

“This can probably feed us for days,” Fíli said as he hefted the sack of vegetables. “Our uncle will say you’re spoiling us.”

“I’m contributing my share,” Bilbo said firmly. He had also bought a small bottle of olive oil, but he had not given it to the lads to carry. It was nestled in his pocket and he felt extremely pleased with himself despite the fact that they would not get a chance to use it while they were on the road. But he could certainly _fantasise_ about it. 

Bilbo was wondering if he should go into the tavern to ask if they had any cheese when he spotted the small sign by the door of the inn that he had missed seeing last night.

_Post will be collected every Monday morning. Please inquire within._

“Take the food back to your uncle--I have some letters to send,” Bilbo said to the younger dwarves. He hurriedly got out his map case and dashed into the inn. 

The innkeeper behind the front counter looked up from his ledger and sighed when he saw Bilbo. “You’re not reconsidering staying for a night, are you?” he asked hopefully.

“I’m sorry, but I just want to write and post some letters,” Bilbo said apologetically.

“Ah. You’ll be going off with those dwarves then?” The innkeeper looked at him with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. 

Bilbo made a noncommittal noise. He did not like being examined like some new species of butterfly or bird by strangers. The innkeeper was looking at him as though he was batty!

Gazing at his meagre writing supplies, Bilbo thought about just how much paper he had left and thriftily divided a sheet into two. He dashed off a few quick notes before folding them and sealing them with a candle he borrowed from the innkeeper.

After a quick query about the mail route, Bilbo left his letters at the inn and ran to find the dwarves again. It might take a few days for the postman to make his rounds, but his mother and a handful of friends would receive his messages eventually.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_To Belladonna Baggins,_  
 _Bag End, Bagshot Row,_  
 _Hobbiton,_  
 _The Shire_

_Dear Mum,  
I am currently travelling with Thorin and his nephews, so Dad need not fear that I have been abandoned along the way. Thorin and I have jumped the broom, so to speak, but I am not sure if he has any similar rituals amongst his people. It is a promising start though. We are on the way to the Blue Mountains now and I will try to send letters back if it is possible._

_I am so sorry that you will have to deal with everyone gossiping about me. I hope that Dad will come around one day though. Most of all, I hope you’re not fighting over me going off with the dwarves. Please send my regards to the Gamgees._

_Fíli and Kíli still claim that you make the best butter cake in the world._

_Your son,  
Bilbo_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_To Tansy Townsend,_  
 _1 Petticoat Lane,_  
 _Bywater,_  
 _The Shire_

_Dear Tansy,  
I am leaving for the Blue Mountains today. Remember me fondly and take care. I have already had a small adventure, but it was unpleasant and involved the Big Folk._

_Thorin and I have made a public spectacle of ourselves in front of the hobbits of Needlehole. If there are any stories about a mad hobbit jumping the broom with a dwarf going around, you can tell Lobelia it was me._

_Love,  
Bilbo_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_To Adalgrim Took,_  
 _Great Smials,_  
 _Tuckborough, Tookland,_  
 _The Shire_

_Adalgrim,  
I am not sure when you will get a chance to read this, but I am on my way to the Blue Mountains with Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews. I might have scandalised the whole of Hobbiton in the process, so it could be a while before I can show my face in the Shire again._

_The map and compass will certainly be very useful on this journey. Please send Fortinbras and the others my regards._

_Your cousin,  
Bilbo_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They took their leave of Needlehole as the sun climbed higher in the sky and most of the mist vaporised. The travellers had left with the dogs trailing after them and Bilbo thought he saw the Rangers from the previous night heading towards the forests. But it had only been a fleeting impression of movement and he did not dwell on it because he had to keep up with the dwarves.

Thorin was using the long handle of his axe for support as he walked, claiming that his ankle would be mended within the week. “We were made to endure,” he said. “A sprained ankle is not going to slow me down.”

Indeed, the pace he set was no different from the previous day. Fíli and Kíli were keeping up despite the extra provisions and Bilbo had to wonder if their uncle had trained them to travel this way.

“Of course he did,” Fíli said with a quick grin. His bruises were already going yellow when they had checked them that morning, testifying to the rapid healing abilities of the young. “We can march all day like this because we’ve been doing it for nearly a year now.”

“We ached all over at first, but we’re used to it now,” Kíli added as they lost sight of all other travellers on the road. 

This particular route followed the path of a river that originated in the Blue Mountains. According to the map and the directions of the dwarrow smith in Needlehole, they would have to follow the river for around a week before they reached their destination.

Bilbo certainly ached all over when they stopped for the night. The soles of his feet had weathered the journey admirably, he thought with some pride, but his leg muscles were very sore. He stuck his legs into the cold water of the shallow river bed and tried to tell his stomach that three meals a day was good enough for other folk.

His stomach complained that hardtack and dried meat eaten on the move for lunch was hardly a _meal_. But Bilbo managed to get himself to move again so that he could help Fíli slice the vegetables while Thorin and Kíli collected fallen branches to start the fire.

“You’re good at that,” Bilbo remarked as he watched Fíli dice carrots with a wickedly sharp knife.

“Practice--lots and lots of practice,” the dwarf said as he turned his attention to the potatoes. “Kíli doesn’t cut them fine enough, so I do it while he chops wood for the fire.”

Bilbo noticed that the dwarves were used to working as a coordinated team as they prepared their campsite. They each had certain roles to perform and it had been all arranged so that they got things done in the shortest time possible. It only took Thorin a minute or two with a flint and tinder to get the fire started and their supper was soon cooking in a pot that was suspended from a sort of tripod made from branches. 

Staring into the fire after he had eaten enough to quiet his stomach, it finally dawned on Bilbo that this was the furthest from home he had ever been. His silence must have alerted the others to his mood, for Thorin moved to sit a little closer to him.

“You’re missing your home,” Thorin said.

“I can’t help but think about what my parents are doing,” Bilbo admitted. They would have had their supper in the kitchen by now. His Dad liked to have a pipe in his favourite chair around this time and his Mum would be reading or sewing buttons in the matching armchair by the fireplace.

“Worrying about you, I have no doubt.” Thorin was silent for a moment before he started to sing. 

Fíli and his brother joined in, their humming harmonising with their uncle’s deeper voice. It was a song about a mountain, a stolen treasure and something about a home that had been lost a long time ago.

In spite of all his worries and homesickness, Bilbo was touched.

He fell asleep soon after, lulled by the deep-voiced songs of his companions.

The days that followed were a repeat of the first. Bilbo was surprised that the mountains in the distance did not seem to grow any closer after a few days of travelling. Distances could be deceptive, he learned as he stared at his map and the mere inch that separated the edge of the Shire from the edge of the Blue Mountains on paper.

Eight days after leaving Needlehole, Thorin announced that they were nearing the appointed meeting place.

At that point in time, Bilbo was out of clean shirts and feeling immensely out of his comfort zone. He was just able to keep up with the dwarves, but sleeping on the ground after so much vigorous exercise was giving him aches and pains everywhere. He was no good at lighting a fire without matches and he was growing heartily sick of the taste of salted pork. But he could hardly complain--he was too short of breath to complain and he could hardly do so while Thorin was limping along with a sprained ankle.

Bilbo could only glare at the mountains as they set up camp for the night. Thorin came over to him and suggested that they should take turns bathing.

“I could do with a proper wash,” Bilbo muttered and went to find the soap. He had never felt grimier in his life and he was certain that he smelt nasty.

Fíli and Kíli would gather firewood and keep watch, but Bilbo was not particularly concerned about their presence. He had grown accustomed to the dwarves after all the time they had spent together.

He was slightly distracted when Thorin stripped off his tunic to join him, but the chilly water of the river temporarily robbed him of his ability to speak as he waded in.

“Are you all right?” Thorin asked as Bilbo shivered and shook like a leaf in the wind. 

It was the first time Bilbo had seen all of Thorin and he cursed the fact that he was too damn cold to do anything about it. Every muscle and every scar was on display, and the sum total was everything he had dreamed of and more. Bilbo could not think of anything he would not do for a tub of warm water right there and then just so that he could tackle Thorin into it.

“I--I really w-wish I was in the mood to appreciate the f-fact that we’re finally naked,” Bilbo said as his balls tried to retreat back into his body. “But I’ll w-wash your back if you w-wash mine.”

Thorin was happy to oblige and requested that Bilbo help him wash his hair as well.

“W-we’ll have to do this again too--just need find a nice heated spring,” Bilbo said as he lathered Thorin’s hair with the soap. “That’s a-another thing to add to the list.”

“It is a good list.” Thorin did not appear to be as affected by the cold water as Bilbo was. It was utterly unfair, he thought as the dwarf ducked himself under the water and rinsed himself without hesitation.

Bilbo could only curl up by the fire under a blanket after his bath. But he managed to eat his stew after much urging and Bilbo finally felt warm again in the circle of Thorin’s arms.

“Just a little further,” Fíli said to him the next morning as they prepared to move on. “We’ll be there soon.”

Bilbo had to smile at his optimism. He was fairly certain that the dwarves had taken turns to stand watch every night and had deliberately left him off the roster so that he could rest. He was sorry that his temper had worsened as the journey had progressed though. Bilbo promised himself that he would make it up to them. Perhaps he would bake a cake when they had the supplies for it one day.

_A seed cake, perhaps . . . Or a sponge cake filled with cream and topped with strawberries._

But all thoughts of cake and related foods flew out of his mind when Thorin paused at the crest of the ridge they were climbing and pointed down into the shallow valley below. The sun was setting on the horizon, but they could see that they had found Thorin’s clan.

Small campfires dotted the bowl of the valley and the stocky figures of dwarves could be seen moving amongst them. It was a much larger number than Bilbo had anticipated, and he had been basing his expectations on the sprawling families of his own people.

"Oh Maker preserve us, I think Mam is down there!" Kíli said frantically. "Is there anything on my face?"

"She might have got there ahead of us," Fíli muttered, straightening out his clothes and looking in askance at the state of his tunic. "She'll kill us now for showing up dressed like vagabonds."

"You're exaggerating," Bilbo said as he fished out his cleanest handkerchief to wipe the dust from their faces. "Surely she'll be very glad to see you?"

Fíli and Kíli just looked at him for a second before going back to beating the dust off their jerkins. 

"You don't know our Mam. _Thorin_ is scared of our Mam," Kíli muttered.

Thorin merely looked back at him neutrally when Bilbo raised an inquiring eyebrow. But the hobbit noticed that his dwarf had washed his beard that day and was in the one unstained tunic he owned--the fetching dark blue one.

"I helped you comb your hair this morning," Bilbo whispered to Thorin as he thought about his own appearance. He was meeting the rest of Thorin’s family for the first time too! "Why didn't you warn me that your sister was going to get here before us?"

"My sister has her own mind. If she approves or disapproves of you, all the clean shirts in the world will not change a thing."

And that was all the warning Bilbo would get. They walked down to the encampment after Thorin had signalled to the dwarf on watch.

“Thorin Oakenshield! You’re late!”

The dwarf who had hailed them so abruptly was wearing a dress, but she had a _beard_ and Bilbo’s limited experience with dwarrow-kind failed him right there and then.

She looked like . . . Well, she looked like _Thorin_ if Thorin was a female dwarf in sturdy leather travelling skirts and elaborate braids. Her long whiskers and sideburns were plaited and drawn back into her hair and Bilbo had to admit that she was a handsome dwarf, regardless of gender. There was a marked resemblance to Kíli and Fíli had obviously inherited his brow from her. 

“Mam!” Throwing all restraint to the wind, Fíli and Kíli flung themselves into her waiting arms. They were all speaking rapidly in Khuzdul and it sounded as though she was scolding them and welcoming them back at the same time.

“My sister, Dís.” Thorin introduced them before he could be subjected to the same treatment. “And this is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

From the way their hands were moving, Bilbo was certain that there was another introduction in Dwarvish that he was not privy to. Dís looked at Bilbo with keen interest and to his surprise, she stepped forwards to clasp his hands.

“Welcome, Bilbo Baggins,” she intoned in a husky alto that was pleasing to the ears and thankfully not at all like her brother’s voice. “Welcome to our camp. I am so sorry.”

“Um . . . I beg your pardon?” Bilbo was confused.

“I am so sorry that my brother had dragged you over miles of inhospitable terrain to this poor excuse of a camp,” Dís said. Her grip on his hand was a lot firmer than the handshakes given by gentlehobbits of the Shire. “Has he been extremely gruff? Or stupidly stubborn?”

“I--I thought that was his normal behaviour,” Bilbo managed to splutter, casting an apologetic look at Thorin. The dwarf did not appear shocked at this display from his sister at all.

“Do you have the foggiest idea what you’ve got into?” Dís demanded, staring into Bilbo’s face intently. He realised that while she was not as tall as Thorin, she was still an inch or two taller than he was. Up close, her features were not as angular as her brother’s, but the determination stamped across them was the same.

“Not really, no. But I’m here because I wanted to go with Thorin and I wasn’t about to be deterred by rough roads.” Bilbo let the travel worn state of his clothes speak for him. He would never have presented himself before people he wanted to impress in his oldest shirts, but they had been roughing it out in the open for over a week. If Thorin’s intimidating sister wanted to interrogate him, she was welcome to do so.

“I think I like you, Bilbo Baggins,” Dís announced. “My stubborn fool of brother actually made a good choice for once.”

Thorin accepted this verbal attack without comment. Bilbo was just relieved.

“You are not one of the _Khazâd_ , but I will not hold it against you,” she declared. “And I’ll take a mattock to anyone who does.”

“It means she really likes you,” Fíli supplied helpfully.

Bilbo was stunned by Dís’ acceptance of him and the subsequent threats of violence against others. “I hope you’ll be all right with me tagging along. I’ll try not to slow you down.”

“Unlike some other clans, we don’t expect everyone to learn our ways quickly or become a dwarf overnight,” she said. “It dishonours the parents who raised you and we do not share our secrets easily. I am sorry for speaking in languages you do not understand, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

“Oh, the hand signals? Thorin uses them all the time, but I understand if you can’t teach it to me.” Bilbo was disappointed, but not particularly surprised by this. He had read about the secretive ways of dwarves and how they jealously they guarded even their language.

“I’m afraid we cannot,” Thorin said ruefully. “As much as I wish to share it with you, it is not permitted.”

“It’s fine, really.” Bilbo was now rather conscious of the other dwarves that had gathered around to watch. It looked like more than half the encampment. But they were staying a respectful distance away and speaking in low whispers. “Um, aren’t you going to introduce me to the rest of your family?”

“My immediate family consists of Dís and her sons,” Thorin informed him. “But these people are my clan--my extended family if you will.”

“You might as well find out now rather than get angry at my fool of a brother later,” Dís said. “We’re Durin’s folk. First of the dwarf Houses and currently landless. My brother might have mentioned that we’re following our king to the Blue Mountains to find another home.”

“He did tell me a little about it.” Bilbo tried not the stare at the assembled dwarrows. “You have a leader then?”

“Oh yes. That’d be our king. The King Under the Mountain,” Dís said with a proud look in her eye. Thorin looked slightly pained at this while Fíli and Kíli were curiously still as they watched their mother.

“Do I have to meet your king to get his permission to come along?” Bilbo inquired.

“Well, you’d better ask him, seeing as you’ve been sharing a bedroll with him on the journey here.”

“You’re joking, right? You’ve been having me on all along, haven’t you?” Bilbo asked after a long pause, looking around to see if Fíli and Kíli were laughing. They were not. No-one else looked amused or appeared to be laughing behind their beards.

Dís shook her head solemnly. “No, I’m afraid not.”

To his eternal embarrassment, Bilbo keeled over in a faint, overcome by fatigue and the most startling revelation that he had jumped the broom with a king.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you Steerpike13713 for beta-reading this chapter.
> 
> A lot of credit goes to Terry Pratchett’s _Discworld_ and facets of dwarven culture therein.
> 
> In my mind, Dís is Lucy Lawless as Xena: Dwarf Warrior Princess. With a beard and a magnificent mane of dark hair.
> 
> Updates will be slow as work has decided to eat me up for a while.


	7. In the Shadow of the Blue Mountains

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When Bilbo came around after fainting right in front of Dís and the entire dwarven encampment, it was as though full night had fallen. He certainly hoped he had not been out for that long.

Blinking rapidly, Bilbo realised that it was dark because four dwarves were leaning over him and the combined mass of all that hair was blocking out the light.

“He’s still with us. Give him some air!” Dís hauled her sons back, but they were slow to move aside.

Trying to get back onto his feet and batting at their well-meaning hands, Bilbo’s eyes sought out the tallest and most _infuriating_ figure still leaning over him.

“You! Who are you? Are you really Thorin Oakenshield?” he demanded, his anger fuelled by the fact that he had swooned in front of a hundred dwarves. Even worse, he had apparently jumped the broom with their king! 

Thorin had the grace to look slightly abashed. “I am still Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, directly descended from Durin the First.” He looked at Dís with what Bilbo could only call fond irritation. “I’m afraid my sister was exaggerating. I have no crown or kingdom to call my own.”

“We don’t have a hall under a mountain. _Yet_ ,” Dís added, looking over to the side where the dark bulk of the Blue Mountains loomed in the twilight.

“But you’re a _king_ ,” Bilbo exclaimed. Thorin winced at the word.

“My father is the king,” Thorin said. Dís pursed her lips that statement and looked as though she wanted to give her brother a hearty kick. This appeared to be something of an old argument between the siblings, but Bilbo was too confused to pay it any mind. “I am not the king unless there is proof that my father is dead and I have created a kingdom for my people.”

Dís’ hands moved in a curt gesture that Bilbo could not interpret and got them back to the matter at hand. “Thorin, you’ve been discourteous and dishonest with the person you intend to spend your life with. What are you going to do about it?”

“In my defence, Bilbo would have thought me a liar,” Thorin said mildly. “I went to the Shire as a blacksmith and left as a blacksmith. The hobbits probably think I am nothing more than a wandering dwarf who seduces younglings and runs away with them.”

“Which was exactly what happened in this case,” his sister pointed out.

“Excuse me! I’m right here!” Bilbo protested. But Thorin had been _mostly_ right. The Bilbo Baggins of the past summer would never have believed that the blacksmith in the soot-stained leather apron was a king. And Dís would be a princess--

“Oh--that means Fíli and Kíli are _princes_?” Bilbo did not like how shrill his voice was becoming, but he was too muddled to care at the moment.

“That would be even harder to believe,” Dís admitted to her sons’ chagrin. But they were not protesting very much as they lingered in the background and watched Bilbo with worried eyes. 

“So you can see my dilemma,” Thorin said, “I am sorry, Bilbo, but I did not want you to think we were insane or delusional.”

“Right now, I’m not entirely sure if _I’m_ not insane or delusional,” Bilbo muttered. He was hurt that Thorin had not told him from the very beginning, but he was also honest enough to admit that he would have laughed at such a tall story coming from a trio of wandering dwarves. 

And events might not have fallen out as they had. He would not have grown fond of Thorin’s nephews. He might not have fallen for Thorin if the dwarf had shown up spouting such ludicrous tales while working as an impoverished blacksmith. Hobbits did not consort with kings, after all.

“You are also feeling tired and cross from the long journey.” Thorin reached over to take his hand gingerly. Bilbo could only stare at this action in shock. “Will you accept my apology and rest for a while before you make any decisions?”

“He doesn’t want you to run away screaming into the wilderness before you’ve had a chance to calm down,” Dís translated, “My brother’s not the easiest dwarf to live with, but he’s got a few good points if you’re willing to look for them.”

“I’m afraid my sister is very blunt,” Thorin said tolerantly, “But we agreed that we should tell you immediately so that you did not have to find out on your own from the others.”

Oh, that sign language business again. Bilbo was feeling heartily sick and tired of dwarves and their secrets. The fact that Thorin was holding his hand and trying to pacify him was even more bizarre.

“Leave him with me. You need to go tell the others that you’re back and that you’ve managed to find someone who’ll put up with you.” Dís made shooing motions with one hand and guided Bilbo away with the other. Thorin did not look pleased, but he did as he was told.

 _ **Thorin** is afraid of our Mam._ Kíli’s words came to mind and the sight of Thorin Oakenshield being chased off by his strong-willed sister made it all a little more real for Bilbo as he was guided to a log that served as a bench in front of a campfire.

Bilbo was badly in need of something to ground him. He had thought Thorin was a simple blacksmith with a sister and two energetic nephews. It was difficult to reconcile his previous impression of the dwarf with the knowledge that he was _royalty_ and there were around a hundred dwarves waiting for Thorin to lead them to a new home. 

But Thorin had been an actual blacksmith who had fixed their fenders and mended their pans. His best clothes appeared to be the ones he was wearing at the moment and no dwarf was kneeling to him as he moved amongst his people. A few bowed or clasped his arm, but some were more informal, going as far as to embrace their king.

It was all very surreal, for Bilbo had thought that Thorin was not one for public displays of affection. But there he was, right out of some legend about the true king returning to his loyal subjects to lead them out of the dark--no, to lead them out of the sun and back into the darkness under a mountain. Where did a hobbit fit into such a story?

“I need some time to absorb all of this,” Bilbo said, staring down at his knees. Dís passed him a tin cup of water and patted his back sympathetically.

“Take your time, Mister Baggins.”

“You can call me Bilbo,” he said absentmindedly before remembering that he was speaking to a _princess_. “Your highness--I’m sorry, I mean--”

“You should call me Dís for you are almost my kinsman and one of my clan now,” she said, “And you can call these two a right pair of idiots if they’ve been doing something foolish.”

“Mam!” Fíli and Kíli complained. But they did not look particularly chastened. The look on Dís’ face reminded Bilbo of how his mother would sigh and shake her head whenever he tracked mud through the door as a tween. There was always a proud gleam in her eyes that she never bothered to hide even as she made him mop it up. Most mothers were probably alike in that respect and Bilbo felt sorely in need of his mother’s advice at that moment.

“Bilbo, you’re not angry at us, are you?” Kíli asked. “We’ve always pretended to be ordinary dwarves because it’s much easier and safer to travel incon--incog--”

“Incognito,” Fíli supplied. 

“Durin’s folk have enemies amongst the orc clans and my brother is not fond of using his title. It was never meant to be a deception for luring in unwary hobbits,” Dís said, “Old habits die hard, even in a safe place like your Shire.”

“ _The_ Shire,” Bilbo said automatically. Looking at the hangdog expressions on Fíli and Kíli’s faces, he felt most of his anger fade. He would never want any danger to befall his family and the hobbits of the Shire. And by extension, he would never _ever_ want to see these young dwarves hunted by orcs or teased about being princes without a kingdom.

“Don’t leave us,” Fíli implored. “Our uncle might never recover.”

“He’ll be upset for _years_ ,” Kíli whispered. Bilbo felt that their assertions were rather melodramatic, but the young dwarves looked so serious that he did not challenge their claim.

“I didn’t say anything about _leaving_ ,” Bilbo said, “I’m angry about being kept in the dark about his title. But if he is a king, then I’ve just yelled at him in a very rude manner. And he did try to apologise. It shocked me so much that I didn’t know what to do.”

“You know him well. It certainly surprised _me_ when he apologised,” Dís muttered as she looked over to where her brother was moving amongst the campfires. “My sons spoke the truth. Thorin might be ill-tempered and bad at expressing himself at times, but it appears that his heart is in your hands.”

Bilbo felt that his hands were not adequate for holding the heart of a king. “I . . . I’m honoured, really I am, but are _you_ all right with it?”

“Of course we are!” Fíli and Kíli chorused, “We were all for you coming with us!”

“We would’ve accepted anyone save an orc, really,” Dís muttered, “It was that bad. But I am happy for you both. Thorin is a stranger to courting, which was why he just dragged you along.”

“It was lucky that we were working in the Shire for more than just the summer,” Fíli added before Dís could go into her brother’s apparent lack of relationships, “Thorin had time to get to know you better. He’s never had much of a chance to do that.”

Dís’ features softened slightly as she tracked Thorin’s progress across the campsite. "My brother is also the king of self-denial and he has not taken pleasure in anything for so long. If you break his heart . . ." Bilbo saw her hands clench and got her meaning immediately.

"Then we are in accord. I hope no one else had their eye on him. It could get ugly," he said with more bravery than he felt.

Dís laughed, startling Bilbo and her sons. "Someone with the balls to stand up to Thorin and everyone else here! The Maker bless you and guide you, Bilbo!"

"Actually, I was hoping you'd help me. Will your people object to a hobbit? Is Thorin going to have to deal with that?" While Bilbo was willing to brave the disapproval of his people and Thorin’s people, a ruler might have to take his subjects’ opinions into consideration when bringing a stranger into their midst.

Fíli and Kíli looked at their mother and their hands twitched in the way that Bilbo now recognised as another private conversation. It was definitely about him. It was possibly about how much he was allowed to know about his situation.

Bilbo told himself that was not their fault that their culture was so restrictive. He tried not to let it affect him, but it was very difficult to remain objective at the moment. Bilbo had been accepted into their clan, but parts of their culture remained a mystery to him. He was practically sharing the bedroll of their king and yet he was left out of conversations. A less patient hobbit would have flounced off by now because it was _rude_ to talk about people while they were standing right in front of you.

"I will tell you a legend of our people," Dís said decisively. The younger dwarves immediately settled down beside their mother and Bilbo felt like he was fauntling listening to the Old Took spinning his tales by the fire again. “This is more like a story for the young ones and not one of the sacred mysteries, so I am able to tell it in front of you, Bilbo.”

Other dwarves had crept closer to join their campfire, reinforcing the impression of a story circle. Perhaps every race liked stories as much as hobbits did.

_The Seven Fathers were laid down in the earth to await the day when they would awaken from their sleep. All but Durin lay in pairs, so the First of the Seven awoke alone. No companion, no mate and no wife awaited Durin when he rose from the ground. So after he had founded a city under the Misty Mountains, Durin set out to find a mate to share his life with him._

_Long and far he travelled, over land, over river and over sea. He prayed to Mahal to show him the way, but no signs came. He called to Ilúvatar to grant him a mate, but no reply came._

_But one day, just before he gave up all hope, Durin found his bride. And it was she who came to him and asked him to be her mate after finding Durin’s footprints across the length and breadth of Middle Earth. She too had been alone and Durin’s long search had impressed her. Durin rejoiced then, for she had chosen him and had come to him on her own free will. So all the more they cherished each other because of all they had been through to find each other._

“There’s some more about Durin crowning her with gold and diamonds, because this is a _dwarrow_ legend after all,” Dis concluded with a wry smile, “But it is why the line of Durin values the companionship of those who are loyal and steadfast even in times of hardship. And they cherish the bonds that are made freely, without condition and forged from love. Some people of our people might not like the idea of a hobbit as their king’s nearest and dearest, Bilbo, but they cannot deny that you cared for Thorin before you knew he was a king.”

There were a few suspiciously damp eyes around the fire that night as Dis finished the story. Bilbo had to pretend not to notice even as he swallowed the prickly lump in his throat. These dwarves were obviously the loyal few who had stuck by Thorin and his sister while they had been homeless exiles. A mere hundred dwarves from what used to be a kingdom.

He asked the first question on his mind in an attempt to bridge the awkward silence that followed. "But if there were only _seven_ dwarves in the beginning, which race did Durin's mate come from?”

"That's something even our scholars are divided over. But it might be a metaphorical story about the origins of the Folk of Durin." Dís eyed Bilbo and her audience shrewdly. Judging by the length of their beards or the lack of beards, the listeners were mostly young dwarves. "It's also the legend that headstrong lovers cite whenever there is opposition."

Bilbo tried not to blush even as the dwarves nudged each other bashfully. "But how do they--do you know that you have found the right companion?" he asked, more than just a little intrigued and concerned now. Did dwarves fall _out_ of love as well?

"Were you expecting a sign from Mahal too?" Dís smiled so fiercely that Bilbo instinctively knew that those bandits would have been so much mincemeat smeared on the ground if they had met this dwarf with the intention of menacing her sons and brother. "My brother did not need such a sign. Though from what my sons told me, the Maker himself might have had to beat him over the head with a warhammer before he realised it for himself."

“Rock,” Bilbo muttered at the same time as Fíli and Kíli. There was a moment of silence before they all burst out laughing.

"Never was there anyone more rock-headed than my brother," Dís said when she could speak again, "Except for me, of course, but that's because I've got to bang heads with Thorin all the time."

"Not _literally_ ," Kíli whispered helpfully to Bilbo, "She just means that she has to be the sensible one most of the time."

"Yes, I think I've got that," Bilbo said, trying to suppress another smile. But his heart was lighter and he could have floated like a smoke ring in the breeze. “I’ll have to grow a harder skull too.”

“Take heart, Bilbo, Durin’s legend also tells us not to take for granted the love that is given, the love that is found and the love that finds you.” Dís levelled a stern look at the young dwarves around her. “Of course, the _other_ possible moral is to get off your fundament and work for it if you want a mate. Durin’s wife was impressed by his determination, not because he crowned her with gold and diamonds.”

“Not that we have any gold or diamonds at the moment,” Fíli said, “Bilbo might have to be satisfied with us.”

“I’ll take you over gold and diamonds--all of you,” Bilbo said quickly. He was surprised at how much he meant it.

“You are a very charming hobbit, no wonder my brother favours you,” Dís said as Fíli and Kíli launched themselves at him with whoops of joy, “And my sons are very fond of you as well.”

“I’m fond of them too, but not like this!” Bilbo squeaked as their combined weight hit him.

“He’s not your new playmate. Let him breathe,” she said when the rough-housing resulted in Bilbo being tumbled from his improvised seat onto the ground with the younger dwarves piled on top of him.

“I’m all right. Mostly,” Bilbo said from where he was the recipient of a four-armed hug. Dís’ glare got Fíli and Kíli moving again and they helped him upright.

“But Bilbo’s our friend.”

“Bilbo taught us our Westron letters.”

“Bilbo would like some personal space right about now,” he said from between them, “You’re heavy for youngsters.”

“Dwarrows have denser bones. Though the denseness appears to be concentrated mostly in their thick skulls.” Dís rolled her eyes at her children and they gave Bilbo some space. “As I was _saying_ before these two interrupted, not everyone will feel the same way about you, but that cannot be helped.”

“It’s like the Sackville-Bagginses all over again, I suppose,” Bilbo said, “Is it going to involve avoiding certain people? I’m good at that.”

The dwarf started to tick off points on her fingers. “They can’t change Thorin’s mind once he’s made a decision, but that’s more to do with him being stubborn than him being the king. You do not have an official title, but Thorin can name you in his will and you will be entitled to a portion of his estate when--”

“I didn’t mean _that_ ,” Bilbo said. It was a dreadfully morbid subject and he was not like some of his more avaricious relatives. “It’s not about his will or his estate. But what do I have to do as Thorin’s companion? Or do I even have anything to do besides . . . er, the obvious?”

“I sometimes forget that other races have different priorities.” Dís looked like she was choosing her words the way a jeweller selected gemstones. “In the dwarrow settlements, everyone works until they feel that they are wealthy enough to retire. But believe me when I say that there will be no shortage of work when we move into the mountains. We will probably be working to survive before we grow rich.”

“I’m not sure I’m any good at mining or making things,” Bilbo began. 

“Mahal gave us the gift of craftsmanship, but that was not all he gave.” Dís glared at her sons when they looked like they were about to interrupt again. “As my sons are reminding me, not every dwarf is a stonemason or metalworker. We have our scholars, cooks and warriors as well.”

“I can cook simple meals, or man the bellows if necessary.” His list of accomplishments and abilities seemed woefully short at the moment. What did he _really_ know how to do? 

“We will see where you fit best,” Dís told him. “The others will seek you out in time. You have the ear of a king, so whisper wisely.”

“But I don’t know much about dwarves and their kings!” Bilbo felt slightly alarmed at the prospect of that sort of attention. He could not possibly influence royalty! 

“Did you not just say that you would grow a thicker skull to deal with my brother? It is the same thing.”

“I barely understand Thorin,” said Bilbo with a frown, “How will I understand your people and their ways?”

“You have eyes and you have ears, Bilbo. You will learn as all our allies have learned. By living amongst us and allowing to friendship become kinship.”

“But I can’t learn your lang--” Bilbo paused and thought about it again. Living amongst them meant that he was going to be surrounded by dwarrows speaking Khuzdul on a daily basis. “You cannot teach me your language directly,” he said slowly, “but I can learn it from you. And everyone else here.”

“Then you will have more friends and become their kin as well. A promising start.” The dwarrow princess looked over his shoulder. “My brother has returned and he appears anxious to pry you from my side. Perhaps he wishes to speak to you.”

 _That makes two of us_ , Bilbo thought as he looked at his dwarf. _Oh confound it, he really does look too noble to be anything but a king!_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thorin had been loath to leave the hobbit with his sister, but there was no safer place in the encampment at the moment. Dís was much more adept at handling situations like this than he was after decades of settling disputes between families.

But as his sister had reminded him, he had a duty to his people as well. Their loyal followers had to see that he was still alive and that they had not waited in vain for him to find them a home after so long.

The ones who still revered Durin’s line bowed before him while the warriors he had fought beside clasped his arm gruffly, relief obvious in their eyes. His closest kin and friends managed to embrace him without choking the life out of him.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, laddie!” Balin exclaimed. The old campaigner was still as spry as ever he sprang up to greet his kinsman. His brother Dwalin was less vocal in his greeting, but Thorin usually had to be on guard for an attempt to head-butt him or wrestle him to the ground. Dwalin claimed that kept him on his toes.

“All in one piece at least,” Dwalin grunted after he tried to flip Thorin over his shoulder and got an elbow in the chest for his pains, “And should we have brought beer along to celebrate the occasion of you actually getting some?”

Trust Dwalin to have sharp eyes and a lewd jest at the ready. “You aren’t likely to leave any for me if there was any beer to be had,” Thorin retorted.

“Sobriety is a cruel mistress, Thorin, but that’s not a mistress you’ve brought back, is it?” Balin asked.

“Bilbo Baggins is a hobbit. He’s definitely not Mistress Baggins.” Thorin did not need to explain himself to his oldest friends, but he felt that he owed them _some_ warning. Dwarves were remarkably insular and the distrust of outsiders had only grown in the days after the dragon.

“So that’s one of the Shire-folk? He’s so small!” Dwalin exclaimed even as his brother said, “Pay up.”

Thorin ignored how Dwalin shot Balin a dirty look and passed over a handful of coins. It would not be the last of the wagering over the newest addition to their camp and he did not really want to know _which_ particular aspect of his life the sons of Fundin had been wagering on.

“Happy for you, laddie,” Balin said as he tucked the coins away.

“Your balls’ll drop off from lack of use, so it’s about time,” was Dwalin’s contribution to the conversation. 

This sort of acceptance was, as Bilbo had mentioned a week before, better than a written recommendation and a parade led by an elected leader of his choice in Thorin’s book. Not everyone would agree, but even a king could not keep all his subjects happy all the time.

Or as his sister would say, “Why should they care who you’re sleeping with? _They_ don’t have to sleep with him.”

Speaking of his sister . . . Thorin was aware that he had left the hobbit with Dís for entirely too long. They were still sitting by the fire his sister had appropriated and were talking in low voices. It was a sight that would make lesser dwarves quake in their boots. Lovers and family members could be a potent combination if they decided to join forces.

At least Bilbo did not look like he was about to run off. Thorin made himself walk up to them unhurriedly despite the mild spike of panic that sprang up at the sight of Bilbo’s furrowed brow. The hobbit was sandwiched between his sister-sons and he had been discussing something frown-worthy with Dís.

“There you are. Dwalin didn’t manage to throw you, I see.”

“I’d never hear the end of it if he did.” Thorin was unable to stop himself from looking anxiously at Bilbo. “Has my sister listed down all my faults already?”

“I’ve let your sister and nephews talk me into staying,” Bilbo informed him while Dís muttered something about not having enough time to do it in, “But we need to talk about . . . all of this first.”

“I believe we should. What has my sister told you?” Thorin asked as he sat down by the hobbit. He noticed that Dís was herding her sons and the other dwarves away and so that they could have this campfire to themselves. They understood that it was important to him and he was grateful.

“Just a little about my position and how dwarves see it,” Bilbo continued, “We don’t it that way in the Shire, but since we’re not going to be in the Shire, it’s not going to bother me much.”

Thorin raised his eyebrows at that declaration. “Are you certain? Your folk set a great store by respectability.” 

He did regret that Bilbo was not going to be respected by his own kind in addition to the scrutiny he would receive from the dwarrows. The hobbit seemed to have made a poor bargain any way he looked at it. Thorin had been waiting for Bilbo to realise it for himself, but the hobbit did not even seem to mind.

“I’m not going to be considered steady and respectable anymore, but I’ve heard that dwarves don’t really warm up to people until they’ve proven themselves,” Bilbo said hopefully.

“You do not have to prove yourself to me. Or to my sister-sons.” Thorin had caught the undercurrent of concern because he had been looking for it. The hobbit had not expected to get Thorin’s _people_ along with Thorin and his family.

“But I’ve got to do something, haven’t I? I suppose they think I’m a weakling for fainting like that just now,” Bilbo murmured.

“If you don’t care about what those Sackville-Bagginses of yours say, then you need not care about the opinions of dwarves,” Thorin said with more optimism than he felt. Dwarves were rather entrenched in their ways and they could hold very long grudges. Hobbits were similar in how long they could sustain an argument, thought there were fewer axes involved and more barbed comments thrown about. Bilbo had told him once that feuding clans would argue about the colour of the sky just because someone felt slighted that they were not invited to so-and-so’s garden party.

“They’re not _my_ Sackville-Bagginses, I just happen to be related to them,” the hobbit said with a trace of his usual wry humour. “Are you related to some of these dwarves then?”

“Yes, in rather complicated ways.” Balin had the record of their family trees stashed someplace, Thorin was certain of it. Bilbo might find them interesting.

“Oh dear, family dinners are going to be awkward if they are anything like the Sackville-Bagginses.”

“You have not seen Dwalin and the others at dinner,” Thorin said with a straight face. Bilbo had never witnessed dwarves at a feast before and he wondered if he ought to be warned.

“I haven’t seen a lot of things, it seems.” Bilbo turned around to look at the dwarves gathered around their own fires, his face temporarily obscured by shadow. “But will you tell me the important things from now on? The parts you _can_ tell me, I mean. Even if it’s just about how good or bad the day has been.”

“I will,” Thorin said, looking into Bilbo’s eyes and promising that he would try. This sort of thing did not come easily to a dwarf and Thorin did not possess the quality of openness that his sister-sons had. Could he unburden himself to Bilbo about things like how low the funds were or how little food they had?

“I think I will probably offend everyone within a day or two if you don’t tell me about the obscure conversational laws of dwarves.” Bilbo was fussing again. 

“You mean how they will respond to your many questions. Dwarves will not answer if they do not feel like it.” The taciturn nature of some dwarves would certainly offend a hobbit. There were those who would give nothing but the odd grunt in reply to things said by outsiders. But if Bilbo could win their trust, he might come to regret his curiosity because dwarves could be extremely talkative amongst their kin. “I believe my sister-sons will be very eager to tell you all they can.”

“We certainly will!” Fíli called out. He was coming towards them with two bowls in his hands and his brother was just behind him with a pair of wooden tankards. “Mam said you’re to eat your supper and not keep Bilbo up too late.” 

“Unless he wants to be kept up,” Kíli said, obviously repeating what Dís had told them. Thorin recognised her blunt wit and did not know if he should curse her or thank her for remembering to feed their newest addition.

Bilbo suddenly found his bowl of stew very interesting and Thorin cleared his throat pointedly until Fíli dragged his brother away. Grinning like loons, the pair of them! But Thorin was grateful that Dís had managed to catch his gaffe in time. Not offering food and drink to the newest addition to their clan might mean that they were not truly welcoming him amongst them.

“My sister means no harm,” Thorin reassured him, “You should eat or I’ll be scolded for being a poor host.”

“I can believe that,” Bilbo said after trying a mouthful of food and taking a sip of the small ale, “But I don’t mind being kept up if you don’t mind . . . It’s just very, erm, open here.”

“If I was unaware that you are fatigued from the journey and I wished to let everyone hear us, I would take you up on that,” Thorin said. He smiled when Bilbo’s ear-tips turned pink. “You also need to tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable. Including my sister’s lewd suggestions.”

“It’s not lewd if I thought of it first,” Bilbo said boldly, “Oh and you should smile more often. It makes you look years younger. Not that I’m saying anything about your age!”

The dwarves were rather surprised to hear their king laugh out loud that evening. They turned their heads to see him supping with the hobbit and thought that there was probably more to the halfling that met the eye if he could make Thorin Oakenshield laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Steerpike13713 for beta-reading this chapter~
> 
> And we totally didn't start comparing Bilbo to Jane Shore and Madam de Pompadour~


	8. Under the Mountains

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thorin was surprised by the sound of his own laughter. There had been few opportunities for mirth on the road. He put it down to sheer relief that Bilbo was not about reject him and run back to the Shire because he had lied by omission or because he was the leader of Durin’s Folk in exile.

He had been prepared for failure. Even his own people would say that he had been overambitious. Trying to keep a young hobbit with him while moving his scattered clan into a permanent home was a task and a half for the stoutest of hearts. But dwarves were possessive of what was theirs and Thorin was no exception.

Bilbo did not look as miserable as he had been during the past few nights during supper. Thorin felt himself relax a little more as Bilbo chattered away. They were seated close to one another, close enough that Bilbo’s knee would bump into Thorin’s leg every now and then. The familiarity was . . . comforting. Alas, the moment could not last forever and shortly after supper, Fíli and Kíli approached them again.

The lads were carrying their fiddles and his harp wrapped in its protective leather cover. He had left his instrument with Dís before leaving for the Shire for it was far too incongruous for a blacksmith to be lugging around. “Thorin! Will you play?” 

“Later,” he promised as Bilbo’s eyes widened in surprise, “I have to speak with your mother about tomorrow.”

“You play too,” the hobbit said, his attention entirely taken up by the instrument in Fíli’s hands. “Is that a harp under there?”

“Oh yes--he’s better than any minstrel in the west,” Kíli said loyally. “You can hear him later.”

“I would like that very much,” Bilbo said, “I love music and singing.”

“Then you should grace us with a song.” Thorin knew that the hobbits enjoyed their tunes and sang most lustily after a few pints of ale, but he had never heard Bilbo sing before.

“Oh no--I’m not a good singer!” the hobbit protested. “My voice is all thin and reedy. I don’t want to embarrass myself again in front of everyone after that fainting spell.”

Fíli and Kíli grinned at the hobbit in unison. “No-one really minds. The story going around is that you were overcome by the honour and swooned when you found out that Thorin was the king.”

“How’s _that_ any better?” Bilbo demanded.

“It makes for a good tale--”

“That’s enough horsing around for now. If you’re going to have Bilbo as your audience later, you’ll make sure he knows where he can wash up and don’t let him fall into the privy,” Dís instructed her sons as she appeared between the younger dwarves with the stealth that had made her the terror of their formative years.

“You have a privy here?” 

“It’s a trench dug in the ground. Which is why you mustn’t fall into it,” Kíli explained.

“Oh well that’s actually _important_. I’m done with making a spectacle of myself,” Bilbo huffed. Thorin would not lay any bets on that. His hobbit would have to live with the stares and the naked curiosity of the younger generation for a while yet.

“I’ll borrow my brother for a while since you’re done with him for now,” Dís said and they moved away from the main fires, leaving Bilbo with the boys to do the washing up.

“No jokes about getting lost? You must be losing your edge,” Thorin said when they were out of earshot. He did miss his sister’s caustic presence. When they had been living together under one roof, she had scolded and nagged him almost as much as her sons.

“The day I lose my edge is the day one of us is dead,” Dís retorted. “A stunned and cross-eyed stripling could follow the Lune in the right direction and get here within a week. So I thought you would probably take a day longer.”

“We had an unseasoned traveller with us,” Thorin pointed out, “And you’ve already told me off for dragging him over miles of inhospitable terrain. Sometimes in the rain too.”

“Your hobbit’s tougher than he looks then. He's not the sort I would have imagined you going for,” she admitted, “But under that waistcoat beats a heart of dwarrow steel according to my sons. They seem to think he's a warrior scholar of some kind." 

"He’s well on the way to becoming one. What do you think of him?" Having his sister’s support was essential. Dís was more level-headed than he was and probably a better judge of character. She had held his people together while he had led the able-bodied smiths back to the anvil and her voice carried almost equal weight amongst Durin’s Folk.

"He seems to be honest, kind and sensible. Then again, he went off with you, so I might have to take back _sensible_." Dís could not treat her brother like her sons, but she could give him a verbal kicking that could shame Dwalin's attempts any day. “You must have felt strongly enough to drag him along when we’re at _this_ stage of the move. It’d be good if he stays. Maybe he’ll make you easier to live with.”

She had voiced Thorin’s silent hopes. Bilbo had stuck it out despite the hardships they faced on the road. He might have become extremely cross and grumpy as the journey wore on, but he had not stopped or turned back.

Thorin could live with another complainer in the ranks. Dwarves of his clan were like that--quick to bemoan every little thing that irked them, but willing to buckle down to see things done. Once they got to know each other better, Bilbo might find that he had a few things in common with the dwarves after all. 

“By the Maker’s grace, he will decide to stay with us and we will have made a home in the mountains for him to stay in.”

“Most likely with a lot of blood, sweat and tears,” his sister said as they came to where a number of chests had been carefully stacked up and covered with canvas near the centre of the encampment. 

This pile merited two guards bearing axes for the chests contained one of the few things they valued more than gold. The knowledge contained in the polished wooden boxes was vital for the retaking of Gabilgathol. They also contained the written records of their people during the diaspora--births, deaths and marriages all carefully written down for the time when they would finally cease wandering and settle in their mansions under stone again. 

“The survey teams reported very little beyond iron ore and several coal deposits in the mine shafts they could reach,” Dís informed him, “They said they found a vein of copper in the last message from two days ago, but that was it.”

“It will see us through the first winter. I have brought some more silver.”

“Let’s see it then. The lads already passed me what they were carrying.” Dís drew out the key she wore around her neck and reached for a chest that looked no different from the others. But this particular box did not contain scrolls and ledgers.

Thorin brought out their earnings from the Shire and added it to the chest. The coffer was about half full, holding mostly silver coins and a few copper ones.

To any dwarrow that had seen the wealth of Erebor, this was a pathetic sum. A hoard that no dwarf could be proud of.

But it represented more than cold hard currency. This was the accumulated earnings of the past year, every coin painstakingly hoarded and saved up for the undertaking. The most remarkable thing was the fact that it was made of contributions from Durin's folk.

This was atypical, for a dwarf and his hard-earned money were not easily parted. It usually required a crowbar to pry a dwarf’s gold from his cold, stiff fingers. But those who still followed Thorin had pooled their earnings together for the expedition into the ruins of Gabilgathol. Some of the money had financed the primary exploration of the old tunnels north of Mount Dolmed. The news that the substrate was stable had led to more teams of engineers sent under the mountain to ascertain if they could claim it for their home.

Thorin announced the start of the migration to Ered Luin when they had confirmed that mining operations were feasible. The money they had now would buy supplies for the first winter under the mountain.

“That’s barely enough to feed this lot for a few weeks,” Dís said. She had a right to be cynical. After decades of keeping the accounts and struggling to care for her family, she had a very good idea of how far a penny could be stretched.

“It will have to suffice. We will send hunters out to take game as well.” Thorin shut the coffer decisively. “You have chosen the merchants to send out to purchase the supplies?”

His sister nodded as she locked the chest again. “Weavers, actually, but they know how to haggle.”

"And you trust them?"

"They are kin. Of a sort." Dís knew her genealogy as well as Thorin did and while dwarves were jealous of their spousal rights, there were too few births to reject healthy children born out of wedlock. Their numbers had been drastically reduced again after the war with the orcs and goblins and the seldom acknowledged collateral lines produced sturdy dwarrows. "The eldest has the strongest right hook this side of the Misty Mountains, too. Just in case there's any trouble with the bargaining."

Dís always had a straightforward approach to things. But most importantly, she got things done. While he had worked in the villages of men, she had organised and set-up the communications network that would summon their people west when the time came. Dís held their savings in trust for the re-colonisation and visited the small enclaves of their people to record their lives in marriage contracts, births and deaths. Thorin suspected that if she had been born a boy, Durin’s Folk would have followed her in droves.

His sister would usually tell him off for thinking like that. _“We’re in this together, you great fool,”_ she would say as she pressed her forehead to his in the dark days after Azanulbizar.

“Then send them out at first light. How many of the others will come?” This was a sore point for the royal family. A number of their people had settled in the Iron Hills and other dwarrow enclaves and even the prospect of a new home had not drawn them back out.

“I’ve estimated the numbers based on the replies I got. We’ll have a few stragglers coming in in the next few days.” Dís looked him in the eye, fierce as a tiger and prouder than a dozen lords. “They will come when we have established ourselves and you will have the pleasure of granting them asylum.”

Thorin always thought it was a shame they could not eat their pride. His family had pride in abundance even in exile. They still held their heads up high after being deserted by a large number of their former subjects.

“And you will play the great lady and chatelaine, I am sure,” Thorin said solemnly.

“With scores of keys at my belt jangling loud enough to wake the ancestors,” she agreed. Their mother had a lady-in-waiting to carry her keys when they had held Erebor. There had been so many of them that there was even a ledger to keep track of which key went where.

Thorin knew that they could not delay the move any longer. His people needed a home to call their own before their children forgot what it meant to be Durin’s Folk.

“At first light then,” Dís went on, “You should play something less broody if you want everyone to be raring to go tomorrow.”

So Thorin took up his harp later amidst a circle of his people and played the songs of Erebor at its height and not the ones from the time after he dragon.

The fact that Bilbo was watching him raptly might have made him more self-conscious, but it was worth it when the hobbit came up to him afterwards and fairly gushed about his performance.

“. . . That was wonderful. None of the hired musicians ever played so well at the Old Took’s parties! You should play more often.”

“I will play more now that I have my harp,” Thorin said even as he glared over the hobbit’s head at his sister-sons. They were giving him the thumbs up in the way that needed no interpretation.

Thorin pushed back his impatience and they spent another night under the open sky in separate bedrolls.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo woke up to the clamour of heavy boots on the stone of the valley floor. It sounded like a hundred dwarves marching to the beat of several different drummers . . . because there really were a hundred of Thorin’s people milling about around him. The noise made it impossible for any hobbit to sleep and Bilbo told himself that it was an important day and they had to start early.

Not wanting to be late, Bilbo crawled out of his bedroll and hoped that he would have time to wash his face before breakfast and the inevitable move into the mountains. Thorin was not there, but Bilbo had expected it. His bedroll was already packed up neatly and the dwarf was probably mustering his people for the move. Leaders had to go first, of course.

Breakfast was the remnants last night’s supper, scraped off the bottom of the pot with hardtack and eaten around the ashes of the fire pit. Bilbo gnawed on his hardtack and wished in vain for a cup of tea with lots of milk and three sugars. He thought of his precious box of tea, but there was no time to get the fire started for a fresh brew.

The lacklustre breakfast was not enough to distract the hobbit from the going-ons around him. The dwarves were already up and about, armed to the teeth and carrying all their worldly belongings strapped to their backs. There was an air of anticipation about them as they buried their campfires and prepared to move.

Thorin was going to lead them to a new home. The significance of this was not lost on Bilbo as he swallowed his breakfast quickly and washed up.

Changing into his least grubby shirt, Bilbo adjusted his braces and noticed that there was much more space between his waistband and his tummy now than before the journey. He had never been fat, but he had never been this lean before either. The effects of just three meals a day and a considerable amount of walking were already showing.

He was saved from feeling self-conscious when Fíli and his brother bounded up to wish him a good morning and help him break camp. Their mother arrived soon after, looking unperturbed by the chaos around her.

“We’re moving in shifts, Bilbo,” Dís said. In daylight, Bilbo could see the details of her dress and the distinctly feminine touch of small glass beads woven into her braids. She looked like a lady general overseeing her troops as she came to stand next to him and nodded to where her sons were bundling up the bedrolls. “The lads’ll show you where to go.”

“Has Thorin gone ahead?” Bilbo asked. He had been looking around for his dwarf but was constantly distracted by the sheer variety of dwarvish hairstyles and weaponry.

“He’ll be amongst the first twenty. We’ll be in the second last group. For safety,” she added when Bilbo looked slightly crestfallen about this arrangement. 

Bilbo learned a lot about the pragmatism of Durin’s Folk that morning as he walked with them through the ravine that led to Gabilgathol’s north door. Their numbers were small, so the womenfolk and the children could not be risked. The warriors would go first into the tunnels that were already vouchsafed by their surveyors because there was always the risk of cave-ins caused by larger numbers of dwarves passing through. 

From what he had heard from Thorin and his sister, there had been small teams of surveyors and tunnel engineers taking turns to explore the ruins in preparation for the move months in advance. Each expedition had been risky and dangerous for the volunteers, who had nothing beyond copied maps based on second hand records from thousands of years ago to guide them. 

“The old tunnels might be unsafe, so they’ve been checking them and shoring up the unstable areas all this while,” she explained as they joined up with the group of dwarves that they would enter the ruins with.

“There might be other things down there too,” Fíli said in a hushed voice.

“If there were _things_ down there, a bunch of dwarves hammering and banging about in the tunnels for half a year would have woken them up by now,” Dís said, levelling a dire glare at her sons. “We have learnt from the lessons of Moria.”

This did not reassure Bilbo, who looked at the dark entrance to the tunnels with trepidation when they came to it. The northern gateway of Gabilgathol was singularly unimpressive. It was just a dark gash in the stone face of the mountain, edged with jagged rocks that reminded the hobbit unpleasantly of sharp teeth. According to Dís, the refugees had reported that the stone doors shattered when the mountains moved in the First Age.

Bilbo could hardly fathom how far in the past that was. So he settled for _a very long time ago_ , when this place had been a thriving city marked on maps as Belegost in Sindarin or Mickleburg in Westron.

It was also much easier to think of Thorin as the headman of a tightly-knit village instead of a king. He could handle that. Bilbo craned his neck to peer into the dark opening even though he knew that Thorin was already well ahead of him. They had to wait for a quarter of an hour before entering the tunnels behind the third group.

“Is it safe now?” Bilbo asked worriedly. He did not know much about mountains and mines, but Thorin was under that great pile of rock and he was growing more and more worried by the minute.

“It might be. We’d hear something if anything happened down there,” Fíli said, cocking his head in the direction of the tunnel entrance. 

“There’d be war cries if they’re battling something,” Kíli added. He looked as though he had been anticipating war cries echoing through the tunnels and was slightly disappointed by the lack of them.

The lads were too excited by the prospect of retaking the old settlement to sulk about being grouped with the women and young children. Their mother had told them to have their weapons ready, but they could not resist chatting with Bilbo as they alternated between staring alertly at the cliffs around them and acting like tweens on a picnic.

They were not the only ones if Bilbo was any judge of all the fidgeting that was going on around him. 

“Hlif, the lantern,” Dís said at last, “And the candles too.”

A dwarf with an impressively thick and intricately braided beard responded by opening the shutters of a dark lantern, directing a shaft of light into the tunnels. Other dwarrows lit a handful of tallow candles and passed them around. Bilbo received a candle in small jar from a warrior decked out in chainmail and bearing a double-headed axe. 

_But if these are the women and children . . ._ Bilbo looked around carefully and realised that the princess was the only dwarrow wearing skirts. The bearded and helmeted warriors around him did not look very different from the others who had gone ahead of them.

His ruminations on the dwarrow mode of dress did not last long as they entered the mountain. It was akin to being swallowed by a gaping mouth and Bilbo shifted a little closer to Fíli and Kíli instinctively. 

He thought that Dís had probably told them to give him a candle. Hobbits were not made to wander around under mountains and his little light was a comforting thing to have as they ventured deeper into the gloom. There were a few torches in the tunnels, but they were spaced out at lengthy intervals to conserve fuel and kindling.

Bilbo soon realised that the path was sloping downwards as they moved through the tunnels, guided by arrows and runes carved into the rock by the surveyors. They passed through a larger set of caves that might have been the outermost guard post of the old city for the walls were too smooth to be natural. Here and there, the signs of rock-falls were evident, as were the recent excavations to clear the tunnels for the re-colonisation.

The air of anticipation grew as the passageway widened and became better lit. Excited murmurs broke out in Khuzdul when the end of the tunnel was sighted and they arrived at a great archway that marked the northern edge of the ruins.

The advance teams had been busy with other projects in addition to shoring up the channels. Torches and lamps of glass had been lit along the subterranean paths and down in the depths of the mountain itself. The effect was a sort of perpetual twilight, but it was enough for the newcomers to see what remained of the ancient ruins.

Bilbo was overwhelmed from the moment he emerged from the tunnels. This was not a set of interconnected rooms under a small hill. This was an entire dwarrow city in a cavern that could easily have held Michel Delving and all the hamlets of the Shire inside it! The dwarves had used the natural cave system under the mountain and carved their way down and outwards, constructing buildings and bridges out of the stone. Bilbo could still see walled compounds lining the slopes of the cavern, still miraculously intact after all this time.

Along the walls of the vast cavern were paths hewn into the rock and lined with structures that were still recognisable as the facades of houses. These were homes built into the mountain itself and they melded almost seamlessly with the stone mansions of the sprawling city that stretched out below them. Bilbo had to tear his eyes away from the sight to focus on his immediate surroundings. 

There was something about dwarves building towering edifices underground, Bilbo thought as he looked up at the massive carved pillar that formed one side of the archway they had just came out from. The craggy features of some dwarrow warrior, magnified twenty times by a sculptor’s chisel, were still visible. They certainly _thought_ bigger and built larger than the other races.

“Good, isn’t it?” Dís said when she saw him looking upwards. “Typical architecture and workmanship of the Broadbeams.”

That was another of the seven main groups of dwarves, if Bilbo remembered the names of the clans correctly. “I don’t know anything about dwarrow architecture, but it’s probably quite sturdy if it’s been standing for several thousands of years.”

“Or just lucky to be intact. Most of the damage was sustained in the lower levels.” Dís signalled to the others to keep moving. “Let’s go find my brother and the others.”

The path became a ramp that lead to the city proper. The bulk of Durin’s Folk had stopped at a cluster of residences built into the north face of the cavern. They were talking amongst themselves excitedly as they pointed at parts of the city that were of interest to them.

They found Thorin looking at some plans tacked up on the wall of the only occupied dwelling. The haphazard laundry lines and unwashed dishes told of bachelors living on their own for a long period of time. The dwarves with candles mounted on their helmets bowed hastily as Dís swept in with her sons and one hobbit following in her wake like ducklings.

“Here we are,” Dís said, “The last group will watch for the stragglers and will join us after nightfall.”

Thorin shouted something in Khuzdul and dragged his family into a rough embrace. “Come now, it is time to choose a home!”

Caught up in Thorin’s enthusiasm, Bilbo found himself house-hunting under the northern slopes of Mount Dolmed. The choices were limited as the surveyors had only marked out the structurally safe dwellings on this level, but there was more than enough for their current numbers. 

They finally picked a three-storeyed house carved into the rock of the mountain. It could have held fifteen dwarves and perhaps twice that number of hobbits. Bilbo was not impressed by the layers of dust and the lack of furniture, but he could imagine what it could look like with some work. Make that a lot of work.

They spent the rest of the day clearing just one floor of the house so that they would have a place to lay their bedrolls. Bilbo did not know how long he had been under the mountain, but he was certain he was about to fall asleep on his feet when Dís summoned him to supper. His allergies had flared up as they swept the dust out, leaving Bilbo feeling congested. He was certain his nose was all swollen and red, too.

“I’m all right. I’ll be better in a day or two,” he assured Thorin as he tried not to fall face-first into his supper. Even the news that there were thermal springs several levels below could not rouse him to move after his meal.

“Tomorrow . . . I’ll bathe tomorrow,” he muttered as he curled up under his blanket.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So began the retaking of Gabilgathol by Durin’s Folk under the leadership of Thorin Oakenshield and his redoubtable sister.

Bilbo thought that living in the ruins of the city would have been intolerable if not for the thermal springs. The ancient Broadbeams had created bathing caverns around the natural hot springs deep under the mountain. They could still see the remnants of mosaic tile on the walls and the stone aqueducts that diverted steaming hot water into cooler pools for bathing. The water smelt strongly of minerals, but it was a small price to pay for feeling clean again after a long day’s work.

As Dís had predicted, there was no shortage of things to do. After clearing out their living spaces the dwarves worked to make them habitable. Teams of dwarrows went outside to fell trees to build supports for the mines. Once the mines were open again, they could extract coal and iron ore for their forges.

Throughout all this, Bilbo was busy either peeling potatoes for the communal pot or following Fíli and Kíli on their rounds as they refilled the oil reservoirs of the many lamps that lit the tunnels that were in use. It had been Dís’ idea, for Bilbo did not know his way around the warren of passageways and could not read the runes on the walls yet.

He learned to recognise the runes for _mine_ , _thermal springs_ and _north entrance_ first as the young dwarves brought him through the tunnels and tried to teach him how to use a flint to light fires. It also allowed Bilbo to see daylight at least once a day as they always checked the north entrance for dwarves who were trickling into the Blue Mountains. He was glad of this even if it was a rainy day outside. The darkness under the mountain was playing havoc with his reckoning of time.

After the first week, Bilbo could find his way around the most commonly used tunnels and worked at refilling the lamps on his own as Fíli and Kíli were needed in the hunting parties. He also passed messages between the main settlement and the northern guard post where Dwalin son of Fundin, Thorin’s trusted lieutenant, maintained a watchful vigil over the gateway that was also their main evacuation route. 

The north entrance saw a lot of activity in the first few weeks. Hunters went to and fro with game they had taken for the pot and for storage, as did the dwarrows who dragged in timbre from the lower valleys. They were so busy every day that Bilbo barely managed to see Thorin, Dís and the lads until the evening meal.

On his twelfth day on lamp duty, Bilbo found a pony-drawn cart laden with live chickens and barrels of supplies at the north entrance.

“But where are we going to put them?” Bilbo asked as he, Dwalin and the handful of guards stared at the cart. He did not know very much about chickens other than how to cook them in several different ways, but he thought that they did not belong underground.

“Well you’d better find someplace for them,” said the grey-haired dwarf who had been sent to purchase the supplies and the livestock. “It’s going to pour again and I don’t imagine they’ll like it very much out here.”

In the end, the chickens were placed in one of the smaller caves of the guard post. A trio of goats soon joined them and the guards who took shifts up at the north entrance were heard to mutter that dwarves did not concern themselves with animal husbandry when they were tasked to shovel manure. Thorin and Dís put a stop to the grumbling immediately for they were far from self-sufficient and needed to find other ways to make their supplies last the winter. 

There was only one dwarf amongst them who had mastered the trick of milking goats because she had worked on a farm when there was no other work to be had. Dark-haired Hlif was one of the first female dwarves outside Thorin’s immediate family that Bilbo got to know because they would go to the livestock cave every morning. 

Hlif had a younger brother to take care of and was the sole breadwinner of her family. She had no choice but to seek employment elsewhere after losing her home and job as a guard for a silk merchant in Dale when the dragon burned everything to the ground. Bilbo had heard about the dragon in almost all the tales of Erebor from his first night under the mountain, but he always felt a frisson of fear every time it was mentioned.

Bilbo now had another job collecting the eggs and feeding the chickens while Hlif saw to the goats. He found himself naming the chickens and the goats because they reminded him of the animals kept by the smallholders of the Shire.

“Don’t get too sentimental about them,” Hlif warned him. She had not started wearing skirts like some of the other womenfolk and Bilbo was itching to ask her about it. Dwarf ladies usually dressed like men when they had to travel, but reverted to more feminine clothing amongst their kin.

“I know, don’t get too close to next week’s dinner,” he sighed. He hoped that it would be a few more weeks before the chickens were to become part of their meals. A score of chickens would only make enough stew for one sitting after all.

“The goats are a safer bet,” Hlif said with something close to a smile as she adjusted the yoke across her shoulders that allowed her to carry two heavy cans of milk. “Let’s get this lot back to the kitchens.”

They had converted one dwelling into a storehouse and it also served as a kitchen for the entire settlement. A stout dwarf called Bombur was usually in charge of cooking. He was exceptionally shy and Bilbo would not have known his name at first but for Bombur’s brother, Bofur.

A toymaker by trade and a miner by necessity, Bofur had been talking to his brother when they had been moving the supplies in. Bilbo was doing the inventory for Dís because he had clear handwriting and could tell the difference between a turnip and a potato.

“It’s a big responsibility, Bombur,” the dwarf in the odd-shaped hat was saying as they came in carrying sacks of flour. “Cooking for everyone here and the king too. You mind yourself and leave some food for the rest of us.”

The dwarf called Bombur had a waistline that any hobbit would be proud of. Bilbo tried not to stare, but Bombur was by far the fattest dwarf he had laid eyes on.

“Hullo,” the dwarf in the hat said when he finally noticed Bilbo. “Bofur, at your service. And my brother as well. This is Bombur.”

Bombur murmured something that sounded like _hello_ and looked at the floor.

“He’s not a great talker,” Bofur said, “But he’s a good cook so long as he can stop sampling his own cooking.”

Bilbo introduced himself and said that he was looking forward to tasting Bombur’s cooking out of politeness. When he sat down to supper that night, he found that Bofur had not been exaggerating his brother’s prowess at the stove.

He praised Bombur’s cooking and tried to talk to the dwarf in an effort to draw him out. After two days of this, Bilbo realised that he was going about it the wrong way. On the third day, he mentioned that his grandmother had an excellent recipe for marrow bone soup.

A few traded recipes and a small mountain of peeled potatoes later, Bombur opened up and Bilbo learned a little more about being friends with dwarves.

Dwarves were very physical with their friends and closest kin. Good friends often wrestled playfully and clapped each other on the back heartily when they met each other. Siblings would bang their foreheads together and embrace openly. Bilbo learned that once he was friends with a dwarf, he got their entire family in the bargain for they would insist on vetting him themselves, often by clustering around him at mealtimes and asking questions. They left him alone when he was eating with Thorin, but the rest of the time, he was fair game.

Bilbo was far from lonely, but he did miss his family terribly. Watching Dís with her sons made him think of his parents and Thorin would catch him staring at them wistfully.

“I have not had a chance to speak with you in private for several days,” Thorin said when they were gathered together in their house one evening after the first arduous weeks of making the ruins somewhat more habitable. 

Dís was testing the lads’ grasp of Westron and they were making the most awful faces as they read from an exceptionally long and boring contract about mining rights. Bilbo had been trying to pen a letter to his mother and stifling his laughter at the agonised expressions on Fíli and Kíli’s faces when a pang of homesickness hit him hard. 

Thorin had to repeat himself when Bilbo did not manage to catch what he said the first time. 

“We were all too busy,” Bilbo said, looking ruefully at the clock that the dwarves had made and hung on the wall of what would be their front parlour. “Is it past nine already?”

“It is and you have not gone to the baths yet. Will you join me?”

Bilbo looked at Thorin and felt himself grow warmer. “I would like that very much.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Steerpike13713 for beta-reading this chapter and for pointing out that Mickleburg is almost "Littletown" in Scots. I wonder if Tolkien knew?


	9. The First Winter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The baths were a chain of connected caves three levels down from where they lived that were divided into separate areas for men and women. Near the roots of the great mountain, the caves were a marvel that had survived the encroachment of the ocean when most of west Beleriand had sank under the waves and the dwarrows had been flooded out of their cities. Only scattered salt deposits and the fossilised remains of sea creatures remained in the lower levels to mark the passage of the sea.

Like most hobbits, Bilbo had never been to the coast before, but he had seen drawings in books of the shells left behind by creatures that had lived inside them. He liked to collect the pretty scalloped ones while helping Hlif fill sacks with crushed oyster shells to bring the chickens to help them form egg shells. A fine specimen with fluted edges was currently serving as his inkwell and the lads were planning to make combs for Dís from a large fragment of turtle shell they had found in the lower levels.

In the steam-fogged cavern, Bilbo felt much better after treating himself to a good scrubbing and helping Thorin to wash his long hair. Winter blanketed the lands above ground, but it was warmer than a summer’s day in the bathing caves. They were also alone, for most of the others had either performed their ablutions earlier or forgone it entirely. Thorin’s family were all for daily baths when they had access to the proper facilities, Bilbo was glad to discover. Some dwarves did not seem to mind the smell of their own sweat and body odour in an enclosed space at all.

Dwarves also did not feel the heat and cold the same way that hobbits did. This was all too apparent as Thorin sluiced himself off and move to one of the shallow pools meant for soaking. Bilbo knew from experience that that particular pool was too hot for him to do anything more than dip his feet in for a few seconds.

“What are you staring at now?” Thorin asked as he opened his eyes and looked over to where Bilbo was seated in a significantly cooler pool of water.

“I might tell you if you come over here,” Bilbo said, patting the surface of the water next to him as though it was a cushioned seat.

The sight of Thorin Oakenshield climbing out of the steaming pool dripping wet was very much to Bilbo’s liking.

“You’re grinning like my sister-sons whenever a passably amusing thought crosses their minds,” Thorin said with a snort as he settled next to Bilbo on the low stones set around the circumference of the pool.

“I’m committing you to memory before you bury yourself under three layers of clothing again,” Bilbo said, letting his eyes roam over the solid muscle of Thorin’s shoulders. It was not as though dwarves needed to wear that many layers after all.

“You only had to ask,” Thorin said, good humour transforming his usually stern countenance into something approaching affability.

“You’re not going to oblige me by taking your clothes off while you’re arguing--I mean while you’re having a heated discussion with the miners, the smiths and the artisans,” Bilbo pointed out, “Though it might shock them all speechless.”

Dwarves had very strong opinions and they were seldom afraid to voice them even to their king. In the past, the king would have a council to deal with the guild chiefs and the guild chiefs would have to listen to their guild members’ arguments. Now there was just Thorin and his sister left to deal with their quarrels. The Line of Durin had very short fuses and Thorin was more prone to bad-tempered outbursts than Dís when faced with ornery dwarves. Bilbo usually stayed well out of it, but not before he had picked up certain phrases in Khuzdul that were not at all polite.

“It might be worth it to see the looks on their faces!” Thorin exclaimed, “But my sister would never let me live it down.”

“I imagine she would remind you of it at every opportunity. I’ll just have to settle for ogling you in the bath.”

“It appears that the list will take some time to fulfil,”Thorin said with a sigh. 

“We could improvise.” Bilbo climbed into Thorin’s lap and was pleased to find that the dwarf was quick to respond to his touch.

“I am listening.” Thorin’s large hands settled around his waist and Bilbo felt a shiver of pleasure as rough calluses brushed his skin.

It was not quite what Bilbo had in mind for a tryst, for there was no bed and no soft surfaces anywhere unless he counted the pool of water he was half submerged in. They improvised with some of the oil used for bathing and Thorin was extremely patient as he worked Bilbo open with his fingers.

“I do not want to hurt you. It is not a boast when I say that I am not like the lovers you might have had before,” Thorin warned him when Bilbo grew impatient.

“At least you’re aware of that,” Bilbo said, taking shallow breaths as his body adjusted around Thorin’s fingers. The warm water had relaxed his muscles, but he was tensing up in an entirely different way now. “I’m not made of glass, you know?”

“I wanted to be the first,” Thorin said with a fierce scowl and Bilbo was sharply reminded of how deep dwarven possessiveness ran.

“You’ll have to settle for being the only one from now on,” Bilbo managed to say before the desire in those piercing blue eyes robbed him of the ability to speak. Thorin growled wordlessly and Bilbo felt his breath catch in his throat as the fingers inside him pressed against that especially sensitive spot.

“Yes,” Thorin said, removing his fingers and pulling Bilbo closer. “The only one.”

Bilbo could only nod because Thorin was sliding into him slowly, inch by torturous inch. It was _very_ different from being with another hobbit because Thorin was all hard surfaces and significantly larger than what he was used to. Bilbo was doubly glad of the dwarves that did not subscribe to daily baths because he could not stifle his moans as he was thoroughly filled.

“Breathe,” Thorin said when Bilbo was seated as far as he could comfortably go.

“It has been a while since I tried this,” Bilbo muttered as he remembered to breathe. 

Thorin’s hands rubbed his lower back soothingly as Bilbo’s fingers flexed and clamped down on his shoulders. The sensation of being stretched to his limit was a little painful, but his body was adjusting and the nervous fluttering in his stomach subsided at last.

“Are you all right?”

“Quite all right,” Bilbo replied after taking another breath and wriggled experimentally. “Let me just . . . move a bit.”

Bilbo did like the way Thorin’s eyes widened when he pushed himself up a little and down again. So he did it again, eliciting a soft growl from the dwarf. The hands on his waist tightened as Thorin surged up to meet him. 

The slight burning sensation turned into something far more pleasurable and Bilbo voiced his approval in no uncertain terms as they moved together. Hearing his name repeated so reverently only spurred Thorin on until they were both spent and satisfied.

“That was lovely,” Bilbo sighed as he leaned bonelessly against Thorin’s chest in the aftermath of their coupling. “I’d make a _do not disturb_ sign to put at the entrance if these weren’t public baths.”

“And announce what we’re doing to the world?” 

“I’ve lost all my inhibitions and have become quite shameless,” Bilbo said, parroting the older hobbits who warned youngsters against travelling to foreign places. “I’ll be a disgrace to the name of all hobbits soon--oh wait, that’s already last season’s news. You shouldn’t be surprised. I’m quite brazen by Shire standards.”

“We will find another time for you to be brazen,” Thorin assured him. 

“And finish the list?” Bilbo thought that they should add baths together to the list.

“And finish the list too.”

It was very convenient while they were still in the bathing caves though. There was no need for another bath once they rinsed themselves off and the current from the underground streams washed all evidence of their activities away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When winter effectively snowed them all in, there were no more supply carts and the dwarves stopped waiting for stragglers to come in.

Bilbo stared out into the brilliantly white landscape outside the gate and stamped his feet to keep warm as he tried to get his daily dose of sunlight without being blinded. 

“I can’t see anyone trying to travel in this weather,” he muttered. The snowdrifts were probably higher than his head at the moment.

“The passes are blocked now,” Dwalin said as he leaned against the stone archway with his axes close to hand. “It’d take balls to get through all of that. And perhaps a large shovel too.”

Dwalin assessed everyone who came near his king and kinsman with equal wariness. He accorded Bilbo a grudging degree of respect because Fíli and Kíli would not stop talking about how good his aim was and Thorin obviously trusted him. Bilbo was unsure what to make of it, but it was probably better to have the warrior on his side than against him.

“You mean like that?” Bilbo asked, shading his eyes as he caught sight of a movement in the nearby snow drifts. He had better vision than the dwarves in the daytime when he was out on the surface. The head of a shovel had broken through the wall of snow and was industriously chipping away to create a dwarf-sized hole.

“Well I’ll be . . .” Dwalin did not look pleased when a tousled head of coppery hair emerged from the crude passageway in the snow. “State your business!”

“That’s a fine welcome to give one of your own,” the other dwarf called out as he pulled himself out of the snow drift.

“I’ve never seen you before,” Dwalin stated belligerently.

“Ah, well, that’s true,” the stranger admitted. He was sporting a beard that was divided into three intricate braids and coupled with his long braided eyebrows, this was not a dwarf that would go unnoticed for long. “Nori, Audun’s son and brother to Dori and Ori. They might not have mentioned me very often though.”

“Dori mentioned you often enough. Mainly for scarpering off in Bree when you were supposed to be helping him get supplies.” Dwalin had not relaxed even after the dwarf had identified himself.

“I was helping by drawing off those ruffians that would have caused trouble for us. Had to run all the way south and back up again by the Grey Havens too. Shame about the south gate though.”

The south gate was completely blocked and Thorin had decided not to excavate it until they had enough dwarves available to guard another entrance to the old city.

Dwalin’s expression was not encouraging. “You’ll be wanting to explain that to the Lady Dís then. Is trouble following you?”

“I lost them before I even got within sight of the Elves’ settlement,” Nori said confidently as he walked through the gate.

“I’ll take him to the city then?” Bilbo thought that Nori was remarkably tenacious to have shovelled his way through half a mountain range in order to reach the rest of Durin’s Folk. But he also appeared to be a rather dodgy customer who had flirted with danger on more than one occasion.

Dwalin sent one of the guards with them and Nori shrugged in resignation. “There’s so little trust in the world today,” he sighed.

“So you went to the Grey Havens?” Bilbo asked as they made their way through the tunnels. Curiosity had overcome his reservations and he wondered if Nori had met any Elves along the way.

“Passed through it,” Nori corrected. “You’re a hobbit, aren’t you?”

“I am. And you’re Dori’s brother . . .”

“I don’t look it, right? That’s ‘cause we don’t have the same Da.” Nori did not appear discomfited by this admission. “I’m the black sheep of the family, so I expect Dori hasn’t said anything nice about me.”

Dori was one of the few dwarves who appreciated tea to the same degree that hobbits did. The other dwarves liked coffee and it was rationed very strictly. Bilbo hoarded his supply of tea like a miser and Dori commiserated with him about the lack of different blends. They both agreed that washing the leaves five times a day was a travesty.

Bilbo said that Dori had not mentioned him as diplomatically as he could and brought him to where Dís might be working that day.

It had come as a surprise to Bilbo when he discovered that Dís of the line of Durin was also an architect. Dwarves were natural craftsmen and quick to pick up new skills. Their womenfolk were no different, for many of them served on the diaspora as repositories of knowledge and lore.

“She’ll be with the engineers, trying to find an old trapdoor to the surface,” Bilbo said as they headed up the ramp to the upper levels instead of going down. “They think it was used to get ice from the higher peaks during the warmer seasons.”

They did not need ice when there was plenty of that around in winter to store meat in, but they could use a secret evacuation route with a working door. Having only one exit was chancy at best.

“Think they got it to open then?” Nori asked when they heard a great creaking and cracking noise ahead of them.

There was more cheering than swearing after that and Bilbo emerged from the tunnel to find the engineers clapping each other on the back as an icy draft blew in from the newly opened portal. Dís was in their midst, dressed in men’s clothes for ease of movement and carrying her drawing tools so that she could update the map of the old passageways.

The princess did not appear fazed by Nori’s appearance when she saw him. “Dori’ll have kittens,” she predicted.

“Sorry about that, yer ladyship. Got caught in a bit of a jam,” Nori said sheepishly. “But Dori got back with everything, so the job was done.”

“I wagered you were trying to get away from your brother,” Dís stated blandly, “And you didn’t quite fulfil the terms of the job.”

“You’re worse than a lawyer, ma’am. What’ll be now?”

“You’ll like this one. We need someone to look for secret passageways and since you’re stuck here for the winter, you might as well put your devious mind to it.”

“If it means camping out in the caves instead of living with Dori, then I’m all for it,” Nori said. “I’ll give you my discounted rate for it too.”

“You’re hiding from whatever trouble you’ve gotten into with us and eating our food. So you’ll get to keep whatever small trinkets you find while you’re nosing around and that’s it.” Dís, as Nori had pointed out, was really much worse than a lawyer when she got serious about something she wanted done.

Nori moaned a bit more about royalty taking advantage of the common folk, but he accepted her terms in the end.

In the days that followed, Nori brought back relics from the vast network of caves that surrounded the old city as he carried out his commission. The odd silver bead and gold link found on the ground were his to keep, but most of the fragments of armour and weaponry were catalogued and stored in a museum of sorts.

Bilbo thought it was an excellent opportunity to explore an ancient dwarrow city via its artefacts. He did not want to go alone into the dark tunnels like Nori, but he could help to curate the items that the dwarves found in the ruins with some help. Bilbo was quite proud of himself when he could finally tell the difference between the head of a war hammer and that of a forge hammer. 

He took pleasure in the small things whenever he could to stave off homesickness. There was the ever-present danger of the tunnels collapsing and just three meals a day, but at least he had a home and a dwarf king to return to. If only said king was not always so busy with the rebuilding and hammering away at the forge to produce new tools when he was not trying to wrangle his stubborn people into some semblance of cohesion.

Bilbo was no less busy because once they were snowed in, Dís had another young dwarf take over his duties and introduced him to a dozen new students. The young dwarves appeared to be anything from a few years to a few decades younger than her sons. 

“This is Bilbo and he will be teaching you how to read and write in Westron,” she said and Bilbo found himself the subject of their bright-eyed scrutiny.

“Why do we need to learn Westron?” one child asked. He--or she--was just starting to develop the stoutness characteristic of dwarves and was almost on level with Bilbo’s chin. A nudge from one of the older children caused the questioner to mutter an additional, “Ma’am.”

"It has always been so. We have commerce with the other races, so we need to be literate in the most common tongue,” Dís told them. “In the past, we had close ties with the merchants of Dale and all contracts had to be written in two languages.”

It might have been traditional and extremely useful to know other languages, but Bilbo was not used to tutoring such a large group. He had a wall of slate in what used to be a meeting hall, some chalk and all the cast-off scraps of paper the scribes could spare. But even the novelty of a hobbit for a tutor was not enough to prevent the children from losing interest in their letters. 

Bilbo was not about to take the advice of their parents and spank them for running off. Dwarves were strict with their children, but Bilbo was no disciplinarian and he doubted that he could spank them without injuring his hand. He found himself improvising again to compensate for their shorter attention spans.

"What are you doing bring all of them in here?" Bombur asked as he waddled in and stared at the scene in the storeroom before lunchtime one day.

"Making labels for everything in Westron and Khuzdul," Bilbo said from where he was handing out sticks of charcoal to the excited children. He had begged some thin slats of wood from the furniture builders and was pleased when the young dwarves took to sign-making with a will. "We'll go into naming the different types of vegetables tomorrow, Hrolf. That's a nice sign, Ari. You can put it up right over the flour bins."

"Just as long as they don't get into any mischief near the hot stove," Bombur said leniently. He had a soft spot for children. If they were not being strictly rationed, he might have indulged them by making sweets. “You’re not half bad at wrangling youngsters.”

It was a sentiment that Thorin echoed after Bilbo got the young dwarves to label everything in the relic museum in Westron and all the tunnels and passageways.

“You’ve managed to get them to do something productive. Even their parents are marvelling at it when they’re not complaining about how hard it is to raise children under these conditions,” Thorin told him one evening. Dís and her sons were not back yet, so they had a quiet moment to themselves.

“I got the idea from that sign that Kíli and Fíli made for the smithy actually,” Bilbo confessed as he added an intact conch shell to his collection on the mantelpiece. Their stone house was looking more like a home with every passing day. “I liked doing things outside more than sitting down to lessons indoors when I was younger too. Most children do.”

“Did you want to settle down and have children?” Thorin asked.

"Well, no," Bilbo said slowly, "I've never thought about having children of my own. I'm fond of them, but I'm not fond of the vomit, changing nappies and crying at odd hours of the night that have to happen before they can toddle about. And I'm terrified of dropping the babies whenever they're passed around and cooed over."

He had heard about new babies from his parents and his nearest relatives. It seemed that there was no way to avoid the first few stages and skip to the part where they were old enough to feed themselves and curtsy in a charming fashion when the gifts were being handed out.

A thought struck him. "Did you want children?" he asked Thorin. He was the king after all and there was the matter of succession to think about.

It might have been a trick of the firelight, but Bilbo thought that Thorin looked troubled for a second.

"I did once." The corner of Thorin's mouth twitched up, dispelling the shadows from his face and making him look younger. "And then my sister had Fíli and Kíli. I cannot replace their father, but they are very likely to become my heirs."

“He was traumatised when Kíli asked how they could get a little sister.” Dís swept in with an armload of ledgers and set them down on the table with a _thump_. “That might be why he’s gone off children entirely.”

“I wasn’t prepared to answer that question. Kíli was _ten_ at that time. And someone had already told him that it involved a man and woman. Just not _which_ man and _which_ woman,” Thorin explained.

"It was a fine mess you left me to sort out too. Unless one of you wants to grow the parts necessary for childbirth and can find a wizard to help you, you're stuck with my sons and all the overgrown children under this mountain," Dís said as she flopped into her chair inelegantly. "All of them are worse than children sometimes!"

"A tiring day?" Bilbo asked as he poured her a cup of herbal tea. Thorin and Dís tended to become extremely grumpy when they had headaches brought on by the long hours of dealing with their people.

"Bless you, Bilbo," Dís exclaimed as she accepted the tea and sat down with them by the fire. "A most tiresome day, with dreadfully tiresome people getting on my last nerve."

Dís heard and settled disputes amongst the families of dwarves that followed the Line of Durin and the laws set down by their clan three days a week. It was a kind of small court for matters that were too private and not suitable for the king to pass judgement over.

"Not the dispute over old Kerr's hammer again?"

“The legacy of Kerr’s hammer _and_ that idiot who thought it was a good idea to marry a girl and adopt her brother at the same time,” Dís sighed.

Bilbo had heard about that particular affair because it was a sensational scandal by dwarf standards. Dwarrows who were confirmed bachelors sometimes adopted their lovers into their families. It was all done through contracts and could give some families a boost in status in the past. This particular dwarf had courted his lady and the lady’s brother at the same time. Now his wife was not speaking to him because he had not announced his intentions to her and both families were embarrassed. Dís had the unenviable task of trying to sort the mess out because there had been nothing illegal about it. 

Bilbo had been shocked by that last fact, but upon reflection, it made a pragmatic sort of sense when ladies made up only a third of the dwarrow population.

But Dís pointed out that that the scarcity of dwarrow women had nothing to do with it. The contracts were all legal and above reproach because there was nothing about marrying both siblings in them. It had been a greedy move and somewhat underhanded. Bad feelings were bound to crop up and there was probably a feud brewing.

No stranger to long-simmering family feuds, Bilbo thought that Thorin was lucky to be dealing with stubborn miners instead warring spouses.

“Lock them all into a room until they settle it between themselves,” Thorin suggested.

“As much as I would like to, that would probably result in murder,” his sister said wearily.

“That might make things simpler all around.”

"I'll send them to you, see if I don't," Dís muttered darkly over the rim of her cup.

"That's a threat if I ever heard one," Bilbo warned Thorin.

“Oh yes, it is.” Dís set down her cup and sorted through her papers. “So stay out of it unless I need you to batter down a door or bang heads together. You’ll be busy with other things soon. I’ve brought the documents you’ve asked for.”

“What are they?” Bilbo asked, his curiosity aroused by the thick scrolls with their important-looking wax seals and silk ribbon bindings.

“Contracts and marriage agreements from the past for reference.” Thorin looked over the scrolls to where Bilbo was seated. “I thought we should write one.”

“Oh.” Bilbo looked down at the documents and back up at Thorin again. “To make it official?”

“Yes, he’s trying to tie you down good and proper. Don’t sign anything until you’ve read through it twice,” Dís interjected before scooping up her ledgers and leaving the room before her brother could say anything.

“I don’t know the first thing about dwarvish contracts,” Bilbo said, feeling terribly happy and out of his depth at the same time.

“Hence the references,” Thorin said. There was a hopeful look on his face that Bilbo found very endearing.

He had a sip of tea to calm himself and slake his suddenly dry throat. “I have some reading to do then.”

“And writing.”

“Of course. We’ll write it together.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reading the old contracts took a while. Writing the first draft took them until mid-winter, mainly because they both wanted to get everything right.

“What’s this thing about finishing a list?” Dís asked as she read through the draft. They had not asked her to proofread it for them. She had just turned up and demanded to check it.

“That’s private,” Bilbo said. They had to be able to keep _some_ things from the rest of the family after all. “You’d be more interested in the part about my availability as tutor and glorified babysitter.”

“Does that include my sons as well?” Her boys had a creative streak of mischief in them that came out whenever they were bored. Thorin had always dealt with it by keeping them busy with work, but they were getting restless after being cooped up under the mountain for weeks.

“It could, but I would like a clause that allows me to enlist their help in bringing the children out for excursions,” he said hopefully. 

“It would build character,” Dís said as she pondered this. Bilbo recognised the shrewd gleam in her eyes and capitalised on it.

“Good training for future leaders,” Bilbo agreed. “If they can herd children, there’s no telling what else they’ll be able to achieve. And a few snowballs in the face can’t hurt them while I take a break.”

Dís gave him a considering look over the edge of the parchment she was reading. “I see that my brother was a lot more astute than I gave him credit for when he brought you with him.”

“Took a leaf from your book, actually.” Bilbo cleared his throat, embarrassed. “I’m going to run out of ideas for activities soon anyhow.”

Granted, Fíli and Kíli did not complain too much as they were drafted to take to take the younger dwarves outside for an afternoon. They did say that the odds were rather unfair, but held their ground valiantly and went down under a hail of snowballs.

“You’re doing just fine,” Bilbo said encouragingly from where he was standing within the scanty shelter offered by the north entrance. Huddled in a hand-me-down coat that used to belong to Dís and then outgrown by first Fíli and then Kíli, the hobbit was enjoying a rare moment of schadenfreude as he watched the mock-battle. 

“Easy for you to say!” Kíli said, sitting up and spitting out snow. “Why don’t we switch places and you can be half buried by--”

He was cut off as two of his attackers climbed onto him. “You’re supposed to stay down,” they said accusingly.

“All right, but remember that it took all of you almost half an hour to break through our defences.” Kíli flopped over dramatically. “Remember this day!”

“Oh give it a rest, brother,” Fíli muttered from where he was being piled on by the other youths. This sort of rough play would have been very hard on a hobbit, for most of the children were heavier than Bilbo, but the lads were made of denser muscle and could shrug their younger brethren off once they got tired of playing. 

It was working out splendidly, Bilbo thought as they rounded up the children and brought them back indoors. The young dwarrows could burn off excess energy while Fíli and Kíli would not get into too much mischief as they got used to more responsibility.

Dís rewrote part of the contract to ensure that Bilbo had partial charge of her son’s education while Thoin tried not to look too pleased. They were on the third draft already and the contract was starting to resemble a short novel as Yuletide approached.

In his scant free time outside his official duties, Bilbo collected seashells, picked up fragments of Iglishmêk and put together old legends of Gabilgathol from the handful of dwarves with Broadbeam ancestry. He desperately wished for more notebooks and thought fondly of Yule in the Shire. There would usually be at least two new journals amongst the presents, their clean and crisp pages just waiting to be filled.

So he was pleasantly surprised when Fíli and Kíli presented him with a leather-bound book at the simple celebration that the dwarves held when they had broken ground on a new mine and were mostly settled into the old city.

The book was a lovely thing, just the right size for his map case. The embossed leather cover was a deep shade of red and the pages had been hand-stitched together with some skill.

“Thank you! How did you--I mean did you make this?” he asked, examining the journal with delight. He knew that the young dwarves were making gifts in secret. It just had not occurred to him that they were making them for him as well

“We had to find the leather and the paper for it, but old Ingmar the bookbinder put it together for us in exchange for the glue we made,” Fíli said. Bilbo recalled that the lads had been busy boiling the bones of a deer they had taken a few weeks earlier before they were snowed in.

“Do you like it?” Kíli asked anxiously, “It doesn’t have any gilt-edges or anything fancy on it.”

“Of course! It’s beautiful . . . It’s the best book for miles!” Bilbo looked at the cover again, tracing the almost organic pattern of vines that had been embossed upon it. The design did not seem to be of dwarvish origin. After almost two months in the ruins of Gabilgathol, he had learned that dwarves usually favoured geometrical, angular patterns.

“The pattern is . . . interesting,” he said, “Did you design it?”

“No, that’s Thorin’s work,” Fíli told him.

“He had it drawn up within five minutes after we told him that we were trying to come up with a design that was more suitable,” Kíli said proudly.

“How did you come up with it?” Bilbo asked Thorin later in the privacy of their house.

“I did work in the Shire for more than a season,” Thorin reminded him, “I could not help but notice the way the local crafts were decorated.”

“It’s very well done. And you’re all unfairly talented,” Bilbo sighed, “Kíli said you came up with it in minutes.”

“I mended almost two dozen vine-patterned fenders, six ornamental gates and an astonishing number of decorative cuckoo clocks,” Thorin said drily, “But the design was mostly based on the hinges of Bag End’s front door.”

“That’s . . .” Bilbo did not know what to say at first, the warm feeling in his chest expanding and washing through him in a wave. “That’s very observant of you,” he said lamely.

“It is not _my_ present to you though.”

“Another present? And you don’t even celebrate Yule,” Bilbo murmured, feeling almost lightheaded. He let Thorin lead him to a room on the third floor of the house. Woodchips littered the floor and the smell of varnish was strong in the room.

“As promised,” Thorin said with a small flourish, “Item one on the list.”

“It’s beautiful,” Bilbo said for the second time that day as he beheld the bed.

An actual bedframe of oak, wider than his bed in Bag End and definitely not in the style he was familiar with. The legs were thicker and the probably made to withstand the denser bulk of a dwarf. Some effort had been made to soften the edges and a familiar pattern of vines wound its way around the wooden legs. He was not sure if the dwarrow furniture-makers could have done better.

“We’ll strike it off the list then,” Bilbo said, “Once I get proper sheets for it.”

“That’s going to take another week, isn’t it?”

“One thing at a time. And it’s not like you’re going anywhere soon, are you?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Steerpike13713 for beta-reading this chapter and for introducing me to the concept of afrerements in medieval times. Dwarves do like their contracts.


	10. The Unexpected Guest

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dark months of winter enveloped the entire mountain range and Bilbo sometimes thought that he would not have been able to adapt to life underground if he had not been so busy. The dwarves did their part by being infuriating and amusing in equal measure.

The younger dwarrows required large amounts of diversion and stimulation in equal measure because they had never lived for so long in underground caverns. Their parents also had to get used to living in a community of dwarves again and they were not so easily pacified. Thorin had to personally break up fights every now and then. Chinning the king in a brawl was still not done, so they had to back down or face the consequences. As they did not have a lock-up for miscreants, the consequences usually involved long shifts shovelling snow, shovelling coal or shovelling manure under Dwalin’s watchful eye.

They got through the winter with only a handful of serious injuries. Everyone was thankful that no lives had been lost in the two cave-ins that occurred in the old mines. Bilbo held his breath every time Thorin led the rescue parties and had to be forcibly distracted from his fretting by some mundane task. 

It could have been worse, the older dwarves said sagely, mining accidents in foreign tunnels were to be expected. They did not know these tunnels because they had not hewn them out of the rock of the mountain. Bilbo discovered that dwarves had an affinity for the mines they worked in--a sort of extra sense that could, according to anecdotal evidence, predict cave-ins.

Whether such events were predictable or not, Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief when they closed up the perilous tunnels permanently. Life under the mountain was a lot for a hobbit to take in even without the safety issues. It was constantly cold and dark, for one thing. Stone walls only seemed to spread the chill around and Thorin often joked in private that Bilbo’s feet were cold enough to wake him up on most mornings.

To which Bilbo would retort that he was just waiting for the invention of a hot water bottle that would not grow cold so that he could dispense with his large, hairy and often cantankerous bed-warmer. That usually led to more verbal sparring that ended when they moved onto finding other ways to keep warm in bed.

Bilbo _did_ run all the way to the entrance when the guards at the north gate announced that the snow was receding from the slopes of the mountain. The news that spring was coming cheered him up to no end. It would almost be time for the spring ploughing down in the Shire, Bilbo thought wistfully.

It was not time to bring their wares out to sell yet though. There was still much to do to secure the mountain to the sort of standards that the dwarves were accustomed to. Thorin sent groups of warriors out to sweep the surrounding area after Nori reported that there might be smaller crevices on the slopes that could potentially house larger predators.

One such patrol was surprised when their scout sighted something that was not a wolf or a bear. The seasoned warriors saw a bedraggled figure in what looked like a red coat that had seen better days was making its way alone the ravine with an equally unkempt pony in tow. The traveller was whistling softly as he trudged along.

When he was almost beneath their perch, the small figure looked up at them and waved.

“Hullo! Do you know where I might find my cousin? He’s a hobbit like me. Goes by the name of Bilbo Baggins?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once he had got the message that another hobbit called Adalgrim Took was looking for him, Bilbo had hastily got his older students to teach the younger ones their three-times multiplication tables before dashing off to receive his cousin. Adalgrim insisted on seeing to his pony first, allowing Bilbo some time to run to Bombur for provisions. Being on good terms with their primary cook had its advantages when unexpected visitors called.

Their first actual visitor too.

“How on earth did you find your way here?” Bilbo demanded when Adalgrim had had a tankard of small ale to slake his thirst and a bowl of hot soup to warm him up. They were seated in front of the fire in what Bilbo liked to call the receiving room of the house. It was truly unfit to receive guests in, but there was no point in fussing about the lack of table-clothes or comfortable armchairs now. All his cousin had asked for upon arrival was a towel to wipe his muddy feet on.

“Asked that blacksmith in Needlehole if he had seen you going away with three dwarves. He didn’t want to tell me at first, but I bought him a few rounds to show him what I fine fellow I was,” Adalgrim said, wiping his mouth on his handkerchief and sighing over the sad state of his once fine coat. Bilbo had hung it up by the fire to dry with his hat, but it would require some serious laundering before it would look anything like it used to.

“And he thought you were a fine fellow eventually?”

“Of course! Just follow the river, he said. And I did.” Adalgrim drained the tankard and wiggled his toes a little closer to the fire. 

“You rode all the way?” Nellie the pony had been exhausted when she had been brought in and was having a well-earned feed and rest with the goats. No surprise then, if she had trotted all the way from the Shire.

“If you could do it, so could I,” his cousin declared. “I rode Nellie until the river reached its source in the mountains and looked around for the gate.”

"How long have you been hunting for the North Gate?" Bilbo asked suspiciously. While the blacksmith of Needlehole was familiar with hobbits, it did not mean that he bore them much goodwill. He had not mentioned where the gate was and merely pointed Adalgrim in the approximate direction of the mountains.

“Well . . . Since yesterday actually,” Adalgrim said sheepishly. “There were a lot of valleys and ravines, mind you.”

"That was foolish!" Bilbo exclaimed heatedly, "You might have wandered for _days_ before they found you!"

"I'm lucky they did," his cousin said, looking unfazed by his narrow brush with death by exposure in the mountains. "Any more of this soup? Or some bread perhaps?"

Bilbo threw his hands up in exasperation. "It's not a joke! What if you were found by wolves first?"

"Living with dwarves didn't make you any less of a worrywart, did it?" Adalgrim patted his pockets and found his pipe and a damp tobacco pouch. He made a face at the state of his belongings. "I've been to Fornost and it was no picnic out there, believe me. Unusable pipe-weed wasn't all I had to worry about, coz."

“Living with dwarves isn’t a picnic either,” Bilbo muttered as he sawed at a loaf of bread, slightly chastened by the reminder that Adalgrim was a more seasoned traveller than he was. His desire to seem more grown-up in front of his older cousin was eclipsed by the fact that there was no need to show off. Adalgrim had eyes after all. “Whatever possessed you to try to find me up here?”

"I'm on a secret mission for two lovely ladies," he said, pulling out two envelopes from his waistcoat and offering them to Bilbo with a bow. “I’m supposed to be somewhere south of Tuckborough now.”

It made Bilbo feel like an absolute heel for letting his fretting obscure the fact that Adalgrim had trekked all the way to the Blue Mountains to deliver messages for him. He offered his cousin the last pinch of his pipe-weed in apology before opening the envelopes. Bilbo recognised the handwriting on the envelopes, of course. Messages from his mother and Tansy Townsend--he had to control himself so that he did not tear into the envelopes.

He opened his mother’s letter first while Adalgrim tactfully busied himself with cleaning his pipe.

_Dear Bilbo,  
Your message came just in time. I almost went out after you. Your father was frantic with worry and now he is very anxious to see you again. Bag End is a very different place without you and might I remind you that the Shire is en route from Ered Luin to Bree._

_Your cousin Adalgrim suggested a secret venture to the Blue Mountains in the spring, but I suspect Miss Townsend’s hand was guiding his rash scheme. Do make sure he gets back in one piece. I do not wish to be the one to tell Hildigrim and Rosa that their only son finally met an adventure he could not come back from._

_All the best to you and your dwarves. I have enclosed your dad’s recipe for cinnamon tea bread._

_Take care and come visit soon,  
Your loving Mum_

“Does anyone else know you’re here?” Bilbo asked over the edge of the letter. His guilt at making his parents fret was mingled with relief that he was still welcome at home.

"Secret mission, remember?" Adalgrim had filled his pipe and lit it with a taper from the fire. Puffing contentedly, he settled back in his chair to tell his tale. "I got back from the east in time for Yule and all the parties. You miss a nice soft mattress and big piles of nosh while on the road, so I let them feed me until I was good for nothing but sleeping in until eleven in the morning."

Bilbo swallowed his saliva as he thought about the Yule parties and the trestle tables groaning under the weight of many seasonal specialities. Eggnog, sweet and savoury pies, baked ham and puddings galore. Adalgrim would have been invited to many parties by the girls who fancied him. 

"I heard about you from Fortinbras and the others. Couldn't quite get the whole story until Tansy Townsend told me about you running off with some rugged dwarf blacksmith. I finally got your letter three days after getting home because it was almost lost amidst all the other mail back at Great Smials," Adalgrim continued, "You could have knocked me over with a feather! You were the last hobbit I would have imagined running off like that.”

“Well on the way to becoming a stuffed shirt?” Bilbo asked pointedly.

“Not like that,” Adalgrim said, shifting a little as he caught Bilbo’s eye. “You were never keen on upsetting your parents. Hardly the rebellious sort, I mean. Poor Uncle Bungo was dismayed by the gossip--but your mum didn’t let any of it get her down. Went to all the Yule parties they got invitations for and threw one of their own at Bag End.”

That was Belladonna Baggins all over. She would not let anyone walk over her or her family. “So you think my mother, also your aunt, is a lovely lady?” Bilbo queried shrewdly.

Adalgrim coughed a little around his pipe. "Your mother was a beauty in her day, but Miss Townsend is a pretty young thing."

“Well-upholstered.” Bilbo felt the urge to needle his cousin a little more and test the waters for Tansy.

“She's not a settee!” Adalgrim exclaimed.

“Nor is she just one of the random pretty young things at the parties. She’s got a good head on her lovely shoulders,” Bilbo pointed out, pleased to have ruffled his cousin just a little. He felt that he should support Tansy’s bid to catch Adalgrim’s eye, but if his cousin was too flighty for her then he would tell her to pin her hopes elsewhere.

"A very daring girl. You are good friends?"

“Obviously.” Bilbo rustled his letters pointedly.

“I thought you might have settled down with a nice young lady like her.”

“But I didn’t. Why the sudden interest?” Bilbo asked, looking at his cousin keenly as he pulled the kettle off the hob. He would offer his guest the last of his tea and hope that there would be time to do shopping when they went out to buy supplies.

“Mother has been having all these ominous conversations about finding me a girl,” Adalgrim began awkwardly.

Bilbo understood immediately. “Well, you _are_ forty-three and not getting any younger . . .”

Adalgrim, like Bilbo, was the only child of permissive parents. The Tooks had a more relaxed attitude towards rambling and straying from the Shire, but Adalgrim's mother was a Baggins and she would eventually desire a respectable ending for her son after indulging his wanderlust well into adulthood.

“Oh not you too!” Adalgrim exclaimed. “I thought you went on an adventure but you're being all domestic with your blacksmith in a house underground and siding with my mother. I'm not that old either!”

It was probably true, Bilbo reflected later, that people who had settled down liked to see all their acquaintances doing the same.

“No, but are you really considering a nomadic bachelorhood?” Bilbo knew that Adalgrim leaned towards girls and the only reason why he had not courted in earnest was probably because of the unsubtle way they threw themselves at him. 

Adalgrim was almost two inches taller than Bilbo and handsome by hobbit standards. The young ladies could not be blamed for being charmed by his laughing blue eyes and strawberry-blond curls. Bilbo used to have a small crush on his cousin in the past--partly because he had been so adventurous and daring and partly because Adalgrim had been a fine-looking young adult. He still was a handsome devil, but Bilbo liked to think that his tastes had matured a little.

“I would like to meet a young lady and court her properly,” he said at last, bluster all gone, “Not a girl put forward by my mother.”

“That would require you to stick around long enough to do so. Say a season or two at the very least.” Bilbo got the tea cups arranged to his satisfaction and poured the tea.

Adalgrim blew out a long stream of smoke and laughed. “You're an expert now, are you?”

"You’re the one in danger of hitting fifty and unsure about his prospects," Bilbo said with the complacency of someone who had effectively ruined his eligibility for a respectable marriage but was not bothered by it.

“That was uncalled for--”

Whatever else Adalgrim was about to say was cut short by the arrival of Thorin. The sound of his boots on the front step always gave him away.

“I heard that we had a visitor. I’m afraid I was not on hand to greet you, Master Took,” Thorin said cordially. It was the most civil he had ever been to a stranger by Bilbo’s reckoning. He was still in his work clothes, but there was no masking the intensity of his presence. 

“This is Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo said, briefly torn between leaving it at that and giving all Thorin’s titles. His better side won in the end. Thorin was uneasy about his titles in front of strangers after all. “He’s the leader of this community. Thorin, this is my cousin . . . on both sides, actually.”

“Well met, Master Oakenshield.” Adalgrim made an elegant leg and Thorin nodded solemnly. 

“You did well to find us, Master Took,” Thorin said, eyeing the outline of a bow propped atop the saddlebags in the corner of the room. Adalgrim had been armed with his bow and sling when he had tackled the Blue Mountains. The dwarrows were usually inclined to be suspicious of armed strangers, but they had probably underestimated Adalgrim’s skill with ranged weapons. “I hope you had a safe journey.”

“Just muddy roads and slippery rocks. I was lucky to be found by your people, really.”

“You are welcome to stay in our house. I–“

“Thorin!” There was a pounding on the front door followed by some guttural utterings in Khuzdul.

Thorin really did roll his eyes just then and shot Bilbo an apologetic look. It was then that Bilbo realised that Thorin too felt that their house--and his entire city--was not quite up to receiving guests and he had been trying to make up for it by not being his usual stand-offish self.

“It’s fine. I’ll take care of my cousin,” Bilbo said, “You go and settle that. I’ll get him settled here.”

“Sorry about that, he’s got to go sort things out in one of the mines. It’s always busy here,” Bilbo explained to his cousin as Thorin hurried off. He did not tell his cousin just what the matter was about even though he had caught the gist of it from the shouting. The pulley system over mineshaft number six had jammed, stranding the miners and their day’s haul some two hundred feet down in the bedrock of the mountain. It was not a place for spectators or visitors to hang about as the dwarrow engineers tried to fix the problem.

“Oh, I see . . . Well, no wonder you look all smug and happy despite being thin as a rake and milk-pale to boot!” Adalgrim said the moment they were left on their own. His cousin, while not always very perceptive when it came to his own affairs, could be rather insightful when it came to other people. Bilbo wagered that Adalgrim might have come across other dwarves in his travels--enough to compare and conclude that it was no ordinary blacksmith that had lured his cousin away from the Shire.

“It's the three meals a day and precious little sunlight,” Bilbo said, forcing down the urge to check if any ribs were showing. He was not as skinny as Adalgrim claimed, but he had grown . . . sturdier. “And I've done my fair share of work. I've got muscles, you know?”

“I won't ask you to wrestle then,” Adalgrim said good-naturedly. The last time they had horsed around was over ten years ago when their families had gathered at the Great Smials over Yule and almost every hobbit of their generation had been present. Adalgrim and his other Took cousins had been more adept at martial arts than Bilbo. In fact, they could be downright deadly with their bows and slings.

“I might be able to floor you if there was a buttered crumpet at stake,” Bilbo stated dryly. He stared down at his cup and saucer. “I do miss the food at home.”

“Then you had better go back soon then,” Adalgrim declared. Polishing off his tea, he looked around the sparsely furnished room and wiggled his toes restlessly. “Aren’t you going to give me the tour?”

“I’ll give you that and a bath too.” Setting down his cup, Bilbo tidied way the tea things and thriftily put away the leaves for later.

His cousin got to his feet enthusiastically. “That sounds wonderful. Have you got a spare pair of trousers as well?”

Rooting about in the chest of old clothes that FIli and Kili had outgrown yielded trousers of approximately the right length and a shirt that might just be only a little large on Adalgrim.

Bilbo guided his cousin down to the lower levels, pointing out the inhabited houses and the sealed tunnels that were considered unstable or a security risk. Adalgrim was properly impressed by it all and managed not to gawk too openly at the armoured dwarves that marched past on their rounds.

“It’s just lamp duty, really,” Bilbo confided in him as they finally made it to the bathing caverns. “It’s a lot of work keeping the tunnels lit. Here we are then--mind the steps.”

“This is a bit more than just a tin bath in front of the fireplace,” his cousin exclaimed in wonder. Adalgrim had a fascination for relics from another age. His interest was not quite academic but he certainly was enthusiastic about climbing all over them.

“It’s a lot more welcoming than the ruins at Fornost,” Adalgrim told him before shedding his travel-stained clothes with obvious relief.

Bilbo read Tansy’s letter while Adalgrim had a wash and soak. It was longer than his mother’s letter and Tansy had been rather excited when she wrote it if the small splatters of ink in the margins was anything to go by.

_Dear Bilbo,  
I was sorry that I suggested this trip to Adalgrim and then I wasn’t sorry anymore when your mother agreed with me. She really wanted to get a message to you. Your dad was in a right state after you left._

_Everyone’s being extremely two-faced about it. Expressing condolences to your parents at elevenses and gossiping about it behind their backs during afternoon tea with other people. It is disgusting! Your parents have always been decent folk and I am ashamed to have had tea with most of these rumourmongers._

_Lobelia was happy about the gossip for a while, but it backfired on her when no-one would talk about anything else. She realised that everyone was ignoring her plans for a spring engagement party. Serves her right, the cat._

_I hope you and your dwarves have settled into that mountain. Be happy. Write back if you can. And make sure Adalgrim comes back eventually._

_Lots of love,  
Tansy_

Adalgrim would be the sort that would like nothing better than to wander off for another adventure after visiting the halls of the dwarves, Bilbo thought as he folded his letters neatly and stowed them in his waistcoat.

A few letters to deliver would send Adalgrim back to the Shire. That would satisfy his mother, his aunt’s family and his friend. His mind made up, Bilbo shook out his cousin’s stained clothes and popped them into a tub for soaking.

“Ooo, I could stay here forever,” Adalgrim sighed. “Finally clean and not smelling like Nellie all the time.”

“Well, you can’t stay in there forever. You’ll be late for supper,” Bilbo told him. He had begun to hear the faint echoes of the miners’ boots coming down the tunnels to the lower levels and knew that the minor crisis had probably been solved. The dwarves were coming off their shift. 

Adalgrim perked up the thought of supper and finished his bath just as the miners poured in. Bilbo introduced his cousin to the dwarves that he was on friendly terms with.

“Just a little hitch, that’s all,” Bofur reassured him when he discretely asked if mine shaft six was operational. “We’ll be seeing you and your cousin at supper later?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Adalgrim replied cheerfully before he was guided out by Bilbo. “They seem very welcoming.”

“Welcoming enough,” Bilbo said. Most of them were civil in front of him, but newcomers were still viewed with suspicion. “Let me show you the scenic route around the city . . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The arrival of Bilbo’s kin had brought certain key issues to the forefront of Thorin’s mind that day.

Firstly, the city was still not much to look at and he had shared Bilbo’s momentary dismay at the state of the house. Spartan furnishings and the lack of niceties aside, they had no extra beds for an overnight guest. And a kinsman besides!

It had reminded him of the primary problem of turning the ruins under the mountain into a city that other dwarves would want to come and live in. They had survived the first winter through thrift and ingenuity, but it was far from the comfortable circumstances that he had hoped for his people.

Adalgrim _Took_ . . . A hobbit of the family that held Thainship. Thorin remembered him vaguely as the cousin in the red waistcoat and black hat that Bilbo sometimes mentioned fondly. Though travel-stained and weary, Adalgrim had been polite and well-spoken when Thorin had greeted him. 

Then that accursed mechanism over mine shaft six had jammed again. It had been on the tip of his tongue to apologise for the state of the place, but Thorin had his pride. He had exchanged a look of commiseration with Bilbo before heading back out. The matter of the guest chamber would have to wait.

Fortunately, his sister had quickly looked into the workshops and found a bedframe that had almost been completed and had the thing moved in while Bilbo was taking his cousin around the edge of the city. She even managed to secure bedding and changed into her skirts before supper.

To his credit, Adalgrim Took only faltered for a second when introduced to Dís at the supper table. He kissed her hand and remarked upon the wealth of her table--a compliment amongst hobbits. Dís managed to make small talk about what must have been an arduous journey even by pony. After their guest had been fed and toasted, he struck up a conversation with Bofur’s family and was soon talked into dancing a jig when the musicians started to play.

“He’s a very amiable guest,” Dís said to Bilbo as she watched his cousin kick up his heels atop one of the trestle tables as he taught Bofur a few rudimentary steps. Adalgrim had not appeared to mind the simple dishes provided and had praised the beer.

“That he is,” Bilbo said. “Adders always manages to liven up a party.”

“We’ve managed to rustle up a bed for him,” she added, “Set it up right next to the main fireplace.”

“Oh thank goodness!” Bilbo sighed with relief. “I was wondering where we were going to put him for the night.”

They had to carry Adalgrim back to the house later that evening. His good spirits had been bolstered by food and beer, but the journey had taken its toil and he had fallen asleep mid-verse after asking to learn some dwarven drinking songs.

“He’ll be out for a while then,” Bofur said cheerfully as they deposited him into the bed by the fireside.

“Adders’ll probably be right as rain tomorrow, if a little late for breakfast,” Bilbo observed. “Or perhaps just lunch.”

“He did well to make it all this way to visit you.”

“And I am really grateful to him for carrying my letters. My mother said that I was welcome home at any time,” Bilbo confided in Thorin as they repaired to their room.

“You should return so that your parents know that you are well. It would be good, I think, that you get more sunlight." 

The other issue that Adalgrim’s visit had brought up was the matter of Bilbo’s return to his family home. Thorin's immediate kin and most of the hobbit's friends had noticed Bilbo's mood darkening as winter wore on. Their resident healer, an ancient and experienced dwarf by the name of Leif, had pointed out that hobbits were obviously not used to living underground and they did not have harsh winters in the Shire. Hobbits, he had surmised, required fresh air and light more than the race of Men did.

"Add it to the contract?"

Thorin nodded. "My sister would agree to this addition, even though she might say something caustic again."

The contract was now some twelve pages long with separate appendices of dwarrow and hobbit terms padding it out even further.

Dís had scathingly suggested that they put empty pages at the back to add in new clauses that would have to be countersigned every time they amended the contract.

When the matter was mentioned at supper the next evening, Adalgrim had latched onto it with interest.

"I'm a kinsman," Adalgrim volunteered eagerly when they came to the part about requiring blood kin to witness and sign the contract. "Related on both sides of his family too."

Bilbo had to let him down gently by telling his cousin that they intended Belladonna and Bungo to sign it. “But you can still be a witness--if you’re in Hobbiton at the time.”

Adalgrim swore that he would and Thorin saw that Bilbo was pleased by this development. In fact, he seemed to be making every effort to get his cousin back to Hobbiton as soon as he and Nellie the pony were able to.

“Make sure you deliver those letters to my Mum and Tansy before you go gallivanting off again,” Bilbo said as Adalgrim prepared to depart. He had reminded his cousin five times about the letters in the three days that Adalgrim had stayed with them.

“I shall deliver it into their fair hands myself.” With an elaborate flourish of his now restored hat, Adalgrim mounted Nellie the pony at the North Gate and trotted back east.

Thorin’s brows drew together as Bilbo’s cousin rode away. “Matchmaking now,” he deduced. A certain lady’s name had been bandied about by the hobbits during Adalgrim’s stay. Bilbo had been busy.

“Tansy was already keen on him since the day he rode up Bagshot Lane to deliver birthday invitations for his coming of age party. That was ten years ago--we were having tea with the Townsends at the time,” Bilbo said nostalgically. “She won’t have to change the monogram on her handkerchiefs if she manages to get him to settle down.”

“And how, pray, did you come to be so familiar with a lady’s handkerchiefs?”

“A gentlehobbit does not kiss and tell. And I’m certainly not telling _you_. We were good friends, that’s all,” Bilbo said primly as they made their way back down to the city.

“If that’s just another way of saying _going around the back of the Party Tree_ , I am surprised she has not insisted that you make an honest woman out of her.” Thorin looked at him pointedly. “You were an eligible bachelor according to the local gossip.”

“Tansy’s a lovely girl, but she and I agreed that we were probably not going to marry each other unless all the other options were exhausted.” Bilbo returned Thorin’s look evenly. “You’ve picked up our ways fairly quickly. But if you had been invited for tea by some other hobbit, you’d have heard about how unsuitable I was.”

“I wasn’t deaf, though it suited some of your people to think I was,” Thorin reminded him. A few hobbits did sometimes act as though their less wealthy neighbours and the tradesmen were part of the background, but such snobbishness was seldom encouraged. 

“You were a foreigner. They like to pretend that foreigners don’t exist.” Bilbo did not like to admit that the insular ways of most hobbits were beginning to disturb him. There was a dangerous world outside the Shire and they were woefully underprepared for hostile incursions. He would have put it down to staying with paranoid dwarves, but he had lived through the Fell Winter and knew that the Bucklanders could not always rescue them every time.

Thorin raised his brows at that. “Even with the Great East Road running right through the Shire?”

“Just the Big Folk passing through, nothing to do with us.” Bilbo mimicked the hobbits who would sit in the public houses and gossip about a world none of them were keen to go out and see. “The moment you became useful to them, they just carried on as though there was always a dwarven blacksmith near Bywater.”

“Except for you.”

“Except for me. Aren’t you glad though?” Bilbo asked as he set about stripping the guest bed.

“More than you will ever know. For instance, how will my people know what goods to bring with us to the market if you do not tell us?” Thorin asked innocently.

Bilbo threw a pillow at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major kudos to Steerpike13713 for beta-reading this chapter~
> 
> Note: I only aged up Lobelia and Otho for this fic--they would have been very young when Bilbo came of age.


	11. Room Enough For Two

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thorin had not been joking when he said that they needed Bilbo to determine what goods they could sell to the hobbits of the Shire.

"You'll give everyone a turn if you drag all of that through the Shire," Bilbo told him during the tallying of an entire winter’s worth of metalwork. He had been looking at the piles of blades and spears with equal parts interest and trepidation. Some pieces had been commissioned for their own use, but the rest of the goods would be sold to finance the next winter under the mountain. Bilbo’s expertise in cataloguing was brought in along with his knowledge of the things that hobbits liked.

“Then we will sell them to Men. Even if we have to take them all the way to the cities in the east.” Men always seemed to need weapons or farming implements--a fact that dwarves were usually happy to exploit in better times. Now, as he watched the craftsmen carting in their products and cataloguing them in piles, Thorin wondered if it was even enough to cover the expense of the journey. “Though I do recall that your cousin was armed when he came to visit you.”

"Well, that's mostly just my Took cousins. And the Bucklanders as well.” Bilbo patted the boxes containing smaller knives and arrowheads. “The Tooks like lighter and smaller arrowheads for their arrows and they can pay for them too."

Thorin made a mental note of that. It did not give him much joy to seek a market for his goods like the poorest merchant, but they would need the funds for the next winter if they were going to make the settlement work. “And horseshoes for their ponies as well. But what else would they like to buy?”

"Those look good. Also less likely to alarm everyone in the Shire," Bilbo offered, pointing at one particular pile of pots and frying pans. Of course, Thorin thought, hobbits would be most attracted to household goods.

"Then all the kitchen utensils will go through the Shire first. If there are any left, we will bring them to Bree." The metal smiths had mastered the art of making entirely serviceable pots and pans while in exile. They had even developed newer combinations of alloys to cope with limited materials.

"Nails would be welcome. And if you have any gardening or farming implements, those would probably sell well too."

"They'll have to be hobbit-sized," another smith said shrewdly.

The metalworkers converged upon Bilbo, measuring this and that while muttering about adjusting for appropriate mass and density. Thorin extracted his hobbit when he thought that they had all they needed. If they had to be merchants, well-made tools were still a step up from coal mining and selling what they did not use. In the meantime, the logistical nightmare of bringing everything out of the mountains would have to be tackled.

It took another week before they were anywhere near ready to move out. There had been fights over who would go out to find work and who would sell their goods. This had a lot to do with who would hold the money after the sale. Thorin and Dís had been fit to be tied by the end of it all. The siblings were usually ashamed of their outbursts of temper afterwards, but there had been a number of altercations that required nothing less than a fit of royal temper to curb. 

But the dwarves knuckled under and made do in the end, as they usually did. A skeleton crew would stay behind in the city under the mountain with the most elderly craftsmen while the rest would venture out. 

Bilbo poured endless cups of herbal tea for them as they worked but Thorin knew that he wished desperately for black tea, the finely shredded leaves steeped for exactly five minutes with three sugars and milk. He had not been made to feel useless throughout all the preparations though. In fact, Bilbo was busier than ever, but the prospect of going back to the Shire again had filled him with a strange mixture of impatience and apprehension.

"It's wonderful that my parents are going to welcome me back, but it might make things worse for them," Bilbo confided to Thorin one evening as they packed their belongings for the journey. He might have cause to worry. Bilbo Baggins had, according to his cousin Adalgrim Took, become a living legend in the Shire and not in an entirely positive way.

Dwarves had their own scandals and their fair share of scoundrels, but they were much more thick-skinned about such things. If a dwarf found living with his own kind unbearable, he would simply take off. Examples of such dwarves included Nori and the solitary blacksmith residing in Needlehole. Even scapegraces like Nori could inveigle their way back into dwarrow society without causing too much fuss. A few more furrowed brows and tighter clinching of money pouches followed his arrival, but Nori was left to his own devices most of the time when he was not undertaking assignments from Dís. Dori and Ori had not been unduly affected by Nori’s presence, but it was probably different for hobbits. 

"We will employ stealth if you think it necessary." Or a detour. With a quick trip to Bag End so that Bilbo could visit his parents. Thorin had some experience with unfriendly mobs, but hobbits were not men or other enclaves of dwarves. There was no way that the dwarves could face off against hobbits without looking like bullies.

"Stealth? While trying to sell that lot?" Bilbo asked, gesturing out of the window at the small hillocks of wares stacked up at a makeshift staging area--mostly metallic and some of them quite cumbersome. "I don't think it's possible in the Shire. Anyhow, I'll know who my real friends are after this . . ."

“What is it?” Thorin asked when he noticed Bilbo looking at him hopefully.

“Isn’t there a dwarvish saying for that?” Bilbo asked as he secured another bedroll. “About friends?”

“No--we just don’t offer any special rates for people who are not our friends,” Thorin said, deadpan. “We have several categories for people who are not our friends though.”

That barely even covered what dwarves felt towards other dwarves, much less other races. Dwarrow animosity was common amidst clans, guilds, families and individuals. Guild warfare was _much_ more cutthroat than inter-clan warfare. It explained why many dwarves of Erebor had not rejoined the settlers--leaving a guild they had joined in the aftermath of the dragon was tantamount to burning all bridges and forfeiting all future trade. No compromises and vicious undercutting of prices was to be expected. Actual sabotage was rarer, but still practiced.

Bilbo was only just beginning to see the tensions between the clans. The reclamation of Gabilgathol probably had not helped. Their subsequent entry into the markets for dwarf-crafted items was going to cause a stir when they ventured east, Thorin knew.

“I almost thought you’d be too busy for that sort of thing. What would you all do if you weren’t all working all the time?” Bilbo wondered. His eyes had moved on and he was staring in wonder at the carpenters putting together wagons from the wood they had harvested before winter had snowed them in. Durin’s Folk had a lot of practical experience in shifting themselves and all their possessions.

“Eat, drink and get into more fights--have you not seen Dwalin and the others in the evenings?” In all honesty, Thorin did not recall having much leisure time even in the years before the dragon. There had been hunting, some sport and dwarf chess with his father. The rest of the time had been taken up by statecraft, lessons in various laws and languages, learning rudimentary skills and discovering where his talents lay. His mother used to complain that he and his siblings barely had a moment to see her.

“Huh. I should introduce your people to the joy of conkers.”

“You know very well what happened when you taught Fíli and Kíli that game,” Thorin said tolerantly. The lads had got a tad over-competitive about it and the modified rules had not worked out very well. Nothing good could have come from substituting dwarrow foreheads for horse chestnuts.

“I told them that that was totally against the last ruling on the rules and etiquette of conkers held in Michel Delving two decades ago,” Bilbo stated firmly. “I shudder to think what they’ll make of the other games.”

“Like that thing with the maypoles?”

“That’s traditional _dancing_ , though I’m sure Fíli and Kíli wouldn’t mind doing a few turns around the maypole with the young ladies. Nothing too saucy,” Bilbo added. “All in good fun.” 

“The last time I participated in anything traditional involving hobbits, I wound up jumping the broom with one,” Thorin said after carefully ascertaining that there was nothing on hand for Bilbo to throw. He had looked up that ritual when he had access to actual books and found a brief mention of it in an exceptionally dry treatise on rural lore. Alas, there had been precious little written down about hobbits and Dís had suggested that Bilbo add to their repository of knowledge. So far, the work in progress was some thirty pages long and growing every time Bilbo thought of something else to add. 

Not having anything to fling his way, Bilbo planted his fists on his hips. “Well, that was consensual and we’ve been stuck under a mountain since then. I’d say that the honeymoon’s over, but I haven’t been to Bree yet."

"That will be the first stop after the Shire," Thorin assured him. They had a schedule for it and everything. Dís would see to it that they were on time and on track.

Bilbo brightened up at that. "What about Rivendell?"

That particular topic was a sore point in his relationship with Bilbo Baggins. The hobbit had an endless fascination for _elves_ of all things.

He was spared the effort of making his case against the damned elves by the noisy entrance of his sister-sons who had not cultivated the art of stealth while within their own home.

“Bilbo! There you are,” Fíli exclaimed. “Look at what we’ve got for you!”

“ _We_ meaning what I got for him after these two badgered me to do something about it,” Dís said, following her sons at a much more sedate pace. “Show him the coat, Kíli.”

“It’s practically new,” Kíli declared as he unfolded the bundle he carried. “Just had the leather re-dyed and the edges trimmed down.”

It was a sturdy travelling coat with a hood, made from one the lads had outgrown, but even a discerning eye could hardly tell it was not new after it had been dyed a deep reddish-brown and adjusted for Bilbo’s size. The carved wooden toggles used to fasten the coat were in the shape of snail shells and the embroidery around the cuffs was new and looked very familiar indeed. Thorin allowed himself a moment of satisfaction at the fact that his design would adorn more than just the cover of a journal.

“Oh,” Bilbo said as the coat was held up before him. “Oh, this is _splendid_ . . .”

The blue velveteen coat Bilbo had worn on the trek to the mountains was worn at the elbows and looked distinctly patchy at the moment. It would hardly do for him to return to the Shire looking like a vagabond or travel to the south-east without durable clothing. His nephews were learning. With a lot of guidance from their mother, no doubt.

“You’re going to need proper gear for the trip as well,” Fíli said. “We’re going to get you all kitted out--”

“If you don’t mind, Bilbo,” Dís cut in. “My extremely observant offspring mentioned that you might need a new wardrobe and certain other items for the journey.”

“But of course! Um, did it cost a lot?” Bilbo asked as he stroked the fleece-lined nape of the coat reverently. 

“Only in favours. Which my sons will repay in kind.” Dís looked at her sons with something approaching maternal pride. 

“What sort of favours?”

“The first pick of the best cuts of meat from our first kills of the season,” Kíli assured him as he slung an arm over Bilbo’s shoulder. “It’ll be repaid after our first hunting trip out.”

“Within the next few days, most probably,” his brother chimed in as they guided Bilbo out of the room, presumably to outfit him with more suitable items. 

“Thank you,” Thorin said quietly to Dís. “I was wondering when to broach that topic with him.”

His sister nodded and looked over the meagre contents of their packs. “It wouldn’t do to let him go back home looking like he’d been dragged through the mountains backwards and hung out to dry. Or traipsing across Eriador so scantily equipped. We’ve got him most of the kit he’ll need--save the boots, of course.”

The topic of boots and socks was apparently a touchy one for hobbits. Thorin had never seen a hobbit in any form of footwear and Bilbo had never considered wearing any even in winter. Dís and the others had to be persuaded to stop trying to measure him for boots.

“Hobbits are strange that way. Fíli said that he thought that they might have been long-distance travellers at once point with feet like that.”

“Before settling down and getting on with the farming, eh?” Dís had been very interested in the agricultural output of the Shire. There had been evidence that the high pastures on the mountainside had been used for farming and small-holding, no-doubt to increase the self-sufficiency of the settlement. If they were to try any of that again, they would need seeds for sowing and livestock that was not solely intended for the pot. 

“Woodcarving as well. Toys and the like, though not as complex as the toys sold in Dale,” Thorin said, allowing a brief wave of nostalgia to wash over him. “They are fond of merriment and games.”

“Like those conkers Fíli and Kíli mentioned? Sounds like a country game that requires some degree of precision,” Dís observed dryly. “This Shire place sounds extremely . . . peaceful and bucolic.”

“ _The_ Shire,” Thorin said automatically. Being around hobbits had rubbed off on him as well. “Pleasant weather. Slightly snooty hobbits, but they’re polite enough once you get to know them. They like feeding their guests, as Fíli and Kíli might also have told you.”

His sister nodded, having heard her sons wax lyrical about cake and mature cider on many occasions. “At least they’ve have stopped eating with their mouths open all the time, miracle of miracles. I would not mind visiting the Shire if manners rub off on them so easily.”

No doubt his sister would like to visit Bilbo’s family to the lay of the land, so to speak. Thorin knew that the Bagginses would welcome their son, but what of their son’s extended collection of dwarves? It was one more question to add to the ones they were already tackling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day they would leave the mountains drew closer and Bilbo was in a semi-panicked state of packing food rations and frantic list-making. There was such a lot to do. And he wanted a lot of things as well for the trip back.

There was no cinnamon, for one thing, so there was no way to make Bungo’s cinnamon tea bread. The list of spices and herbs he wanted for the kitchen was spilling over into the third page. He was certain he could get most of them from the markets and kitchen gardens of the Shire. Bombur would be ever so pleased to have more flavours to work with.

Lists aside, at least he was packed and ready. Fíli and Kíli had helped him to obtain a fine travelling coat, sturdy trousers and a new belt--well, _almost_ new. They had to punch more holes in the belt and cut half a foot of leather from the end so that it would fit Bilbo’s leaner waist. His suspenders had been repaired, but the velveteen coat he had worn on the way to the mountains was probably bound for the rag bag.

A tin cup had joined his compass, map case and small knife with useful attachments in the leather satchel that would also hold travel rations and handkerchiefs. Bilbo had selected a wooden staff for the trip for he did not have an axe or spear that could do double-duty as a weapon and a walking aid. He even had a new scarf courtesy of Dori and the long winter evenings in which he could do little else but knit and gossip.

Bilbo was practically vibrating with anticipation and a good many anxious thoughts about being on the move again.

The dwarves did not work themselves up into a frenzy before the big day. Any nerves they might have had appeared to transmute into a sort of seamless industriousness that had amazed Bilbo when he had observed the speed at which they had assembled wagons from scratch. They had also smoked strips of the venison that the hunters brought in and made a purportedly nutritious journey biscuit that Bilbo had not taken to at all.

“It’s no-one’s favourite really, but it’s an old recipe from Dale that works most of the time,” Bombur had confided in him over the trays spread out all over the kitchen surfaces. They had spent most of the morning baking the tasteless biscuit. “I just crumble it into stew when it needs thickening.”

On the day before they would leave, Bilbo wandered around the settlement and visited all the familiar landmarks to claim his nerves and avoid getting in the way of increasingly gruff dwarves. 

Walking along the wide ramp that circled the great cavern, it dawned upon him that he would not see this underground city again for at least two seasons if they followed Thorin and Dís’ schedule. Bilbo committed the main landmarks to memory as he strolled through the now-familiar thoroughfare before pausing at what he mentally termed the dwarrow shrine.

Bilbo had noticed the emergence of the small shrine by the entrance to the main city earlier during winter. The dwarves regularly left small metal or stone tokens on the shelves hewn into the stone wall. He had surmised that it was not a planned or formal structure for it lacked the regular geometrical symmetry of their other works.

On that day, the carved ledges fairly sparkled with all manner of polished stones. Not true gemstones, for there were hardly any left in the settlement, but smooth, pretty stones with a vein of gold, chips of crystal or aesthetically pleasing stripes that had been picked up and refined by skilled fingers.

“Lovely sight, ain’t it?” The speaker emerged from the tunnel in the cavern wall, his distinctive beard and hair instantly recognisable. “Just a little extra luck before tomorrow . . .”

Bilbo watched with interest as Nori stepped forward and placed what looked like half of a gold link on a stone shelf. “So you do this for luck?”

“It’s something for the ancestors. Just a little sign that we remember them and know that they’re watchin’ us,” Nori said. “Old traditions die hard.”

“What? Really watching everything?” Bilbo asked. Nori had the look of a dwarf who did not like to be watched, especially when he was up to something nefarious. Which was most of the time, according to Dori.

“I’m sure they’ve closed an eye every now and again,” the dwarf said as he looked at the stone crevices and their colourful burden. “They know the reasons for the things we do.”

They probably had to look away if Dori’s stories of what his younger brother got up to were even half true. “Do they listen to requests and wishes as well?”

“Oh no, not wishes . . . Not exactly. It’s like a kind of petition. Putting in a good word for us with the Maker, that sorta thing,” Nori explained. His customary twinkle was in place, but there was a seriousness in his tone that was at odds with his demeanour. “And you’ve gotta admit that we need all the help we can get right now. Not that the Maker didn’t give us the tools and the knowledge to do so by ourselves, but it pays to make certain that all the joins are tight.”

“I thought you weren’t the old fashioned, traditional sort,” Bilbo said wryly as he took a closer look at the broken half of the small gold link Nori had placed on the shelf--his offering, for the want of a better word. It would not disappear. No dwarf touched anything another dwarf had given to the makeshift shrine. 

“Oh, I don’t like leaving that many things to chance,” Nori said with a wink. “It’s like an investment. You don’t see much by way of returns at first . . .”

“But you expect more in the future?”

“Yeah . . . And my brothers are pretty much invested in this place at the moment, so I have to keep an eye on them.” This was said with a gruffness in his voice that Bilbo rightly interpreted as all the brotherly feeling that Nori did not regularly show towards his kin.

“Why did you leave them then?” Bilbo asked, finally daring to voice the question that had plagued him from the time he had learned that Nori had not settled down with his siblings with a chosen trade, but had struck out on his own. 

"I was tired of takin’ the piss. Literally," Nori said without rancour. "Long story short, we had no dyers or fullers at the time. So we had ta dye all the thread, yarn and cloth by ourselves. And you know what dyein’ material entails."

Bilbo had known, in theory, what the dyeing process consisted of. The reality of it had been brought to his attention whenever they emptied their chamber pots. The apprentice dyers and tanners were usually on hand to collect the stale urine that contained the ammonia required as a fixative. It was the same with the dwarves who dyed wool and tanned leather.

He cleared his throat delicately. "So you had to . . ."

"Collect piss, yeah. And we made our own potash and vinegar too. Dint half stink most of the time. One day, I just thought _bugger this_ , dropped the buckets and scarpered," Nori concluded. "Still one of my best decisions to date."

“Where did you go after that?” Bilbo’s curiosity was out in full force now, but Nori was not going to satisfy all of it in a day.

“Here and there,” the dwarf said evasively. There was a cagey gleam in his eye as he looked at Bilbo. “Did a bit of this and that over the years.”

“I’m not that easily shocked,” Bilbo said. He was already the most disreputable hobbit according to recent news and running away was not all that shocking anymore.

“Oh it ain’t on account of your delicate sensibilities,” Nori assured him. “The less anyone knows about my affairs, the better. Especially when unfriendly people come a-callin’, if ya get my drift. This way, you can swear you don’t know a thing.”

“That . . . sounds dangerous. Is that why you don’t tell Dori and Ori?” The youngest of the siblings was in training to become a scribe and appeared rather sheltered. Dori professed no interest in Nori’s deeds and misdeeds, but Bilbo would have bet his best pipe that he cared a lot more than he let on. The memory that there were people outside the mountain that did not wish Nori well was suddenly brought to the forefront of his mind.

“That’s it, basically.” Nori shrugged again. “They don’t have anything to do with my problems and they shouldn’t have to, not with Ori doing so well now. I knew he wasn’t going to be a weaver.”

He sounded proud of the fact too. Despite his more traditional leanings, Dori was just as pleased with Ori’s advancement, always finding subtle and unsubtle ways to showcase the fact.

“The Lady Dís says that he’s got excellent penmanship,” Bilbo said, knowing full well that familial pride tended to loosen dwarrow tongues.

“Oh aye! I’ve got a going-away present that I’ve got to give him before we leave,” Nori said, tapping his nose in a conspiratorial fashion. “He probably won’t mind me showing it to you first . . .”

Ori was staying behind to learn all he could from an extremely senior scribe who had been having knee problems and could not venture out of bed unaided. The little knife that Nori drew out was very fine indeed. The handle was inlaid with what looked like mother of pearl and it looked fit for a prince.

“Found it deep in the old tunnels and polished it up a treat. He can use it to cut his quills and brushes.”

Bilbo assured him that there was no better knife and no better present. He was rather relieved that it was not stolen. Nori would not do something as daft as planting stolen items on his youngest sibling.

“Now I’ve gotta give it to him and put up with Dori’s fussing for one more night,” Nori sighed and made the small knife disappear as thought by magic. “I expect you’re keen to get out into the fresh air again.”

“And go home. I mean, not that this hasn’t become my home but--”

“Oh I know that feelin’,” Nori said before Bilbo could trip over his own tongue again. “They always say home is where your family is, but no-one said you could just have _one_. Or that you had to stay with them forever. Be greedy--dwarves do it all the time.”

And Nori was off again, disappearing into the tunnel with a jaunty spring in his step. 

His eyesight was not so keen in the dim light afforded by the lamps, but Bilbo was certain that he had seen a corner of a knitted scarf in purple and blue behind the elaborate braids of Nori’s beard.

“Oh well,” he said to himself. “It can’t hurt . . .”

Bilbo went back to the house, but not before leaving a small gold button that had dropped from his waistcoat behind on the wall. Just in case any hobbit or dwarrow ancestors were looking.

Deciding to run with Nori’s advice for a while, he tried to get a moment alone with Thorin.

“What is this about?” Thorin asked when Bilbo had pulled him aside after supper.

“It’s our last night before the move. And we won’t be seeing a real bed for a while . . .”

“Ah,” Thorin said, getting the point almost immediately. Most of the organisation was done and his people did not need him breathing down their necks to be ready on time. He did not have any work until the next morning.

“Unless you’re too tired--”

“I suddenly feel extremely invigorated.” And he suited word to deed by taking hold of Bilbo’s hand and pulling him upstairs to their room. 

The next morning, Kíli tried to be subtle by pretending to knock over a shield instead of knocking on their door to rouse them, but they were already awake. 

Thorin nodded at Kíli when they emerged moments later, alert-eyed and dressed for the journey. “Don’t dent a perfectly good shield like that--your brother won’t be pleased,” he said. Bilbo hid a smile at expression on Kíli’s face.

Dís could barely conceal her amusement at these antics. Already in her leather travelling skirt and chainmail corslet, she hefted a pack that was as tall as she was and shook her head. “I’m glad you have the energy to keep up with these young scamps.”

“We’re not grey and decrepit yet,” Thorin said with a mock-growl. “Now hurry, we need to go soon!”

Coming out to stand on the front step, Bilbo saw a ripple of movement spreading out across the dwarves gathered on the widest flat surface on the ramp that served as the staging area. They had seen the emergence of their leader and were now looking expectantly his way.

Thorin looked as though he was getting ready to give a speech, but Bilbo could have sworn that Dís was glaring at her brother in a way that needed no interpretation. 

“Get moving! We must start out now!” His voice carried well across the crowd, amplified by the natural acoustics of the cavern around them. The dwarves were more than happy to comply.

Once again, Bilbo found himself swept up into a whirl of activity. Not having any ponies, the dwarves hitched themselves to the wagons and carts to pull them up the ramp and out of the tunnels. Various curses and chants filled the air as each vehicle picked up speed and cleared out of the cavern one at a time. 

“Mum thought that he should cut back on speeches,” Fíli whispered to Bilbo when his uncle had strode ahead of their little group to oversee the movement of the wagons.

Bilbo did not question the wisdom of this after being in the audience for the ground-breaking ceremony of the newest mine shaft. Thorin was better at inspiring speeches when he did not have the time to prepare a longwinded one. He had no wagon to pull, but Bilbo doubted that a long speech was going to improve the mood of the dwarves who were hauling the wooden carts loaded with their wares, possessions and occasionally screaming children.

He waved at some of the families he recognised and some children who were not so distressed by the move managed to wave back from where they were jouncing about atop piles of baggage. Bofur and his kin nodded at him cheerfully as they pulled their jingling and creaking cart of toys along the path created by the tunnel. There were some laughs and good-natured grumbling as the toymakers sounded something that resembled like an air bladder combined with a horn to announce their presence to everyone within earshot.

“Comin’ through! Make way!” All vehicles had priority that day, so the dwarves flattened themselves along the walls of the tunnel for the wagon with Bombur in between the shafts and Bofur and Bifur pushing it from behind to pass through.

Bilbo counted twenty-three wagons that made the journey up to the surface that day. Thorin waited until all the dwarves were out of the gate before he ordered the metal grill shut behind them. The dwarves had wrought the steel gate with some care so that it could only be raised from within the mountain by those who would stay behind.

Paranoia from the dragon attack on Erebor had led to the planning of multiple gates within the main passageway to be completed at a later date. Bilbo had heard Dís hypothesise that the mile or so of narrow tunnels from the surface to the city might have been an anti-dragon or anti-siege design from the First Age.

With one final look at the gate, Thorin turned and waved them on. Dwalin would lead the scouting party while Fíli and Kíli had co-command of the rear-guard. Thorin and Dís walking alongside the column of toiling dwarves. It was a deliberate choice on their part so that they could see their people and be seen by their followers. Most of them also knew that Thorin did not have the best internal compass.

While dwarves were masters of finding their way around underground, there were a few who had trouble with directions above ground. Thorin was one of them and he knew it too. He could get to his destination eventually after a few tries, but it was usually Fíli who read the maps and plotted the course of their journeys while they had been wandering blacksmiths. 

Bilbo did not need a map and compass to guide him. The trail seemed as fresh in his mind as though he had only walked it yesterday. Even with the carts and the delays caused by loose wheels, the journey did not take them much longer than before.

Even his fears about the trip itself seemed unfounded as he found himself sleeping remarkably well under the clear night skies and feeling invigorated by the fresh air. Bilbo was practically skipping along by the time the convoy made it over the last hillock before the town of Needlehole.

“Almost there,” he said to Dís and Thorin as the last rays of the setting sun outlined the low roofs of the small town and the fields beyond. “Tomorrow, I’ll show you Hobbiton.”

Bilbo glanced back at the long column of wagons and dwarves. “Um, it might be a tight fit if everyone’s coming to tea though . . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to Steerpike13713 for the beta~


	12. A Prodigal Return

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As it turned out, there were no real plans to invite everyone to tea at the Bagginses.

“It might be a little too much too soon,” Dís said diplomatically as they set up camp for the night. “Not everyone is as sociable as you and we need to set up our camp before we can hold a trade fair.”

So the next morning saw the wagon train on the Great East Road heading west. The dwarves had sent a scout on ahead to find a field near the market at Bywater to set up camp. Or rent a field if the situation called for it.

Bilbo and Thorin’s family left the main convoy for the road leading to Hobbiton and reached Bag Shot Row just shy of second breakfast. Fíli and Kíli were in high spirits as well, pointing out familiar landmarks along the way and waving at some of the hobbits in their gardens. Some did wave back tentatively, but the way they started whispering amongst themselves afterwards made Bilbo irritable for he was certain they were also talking about him. His ears had picked up murmurs of his name in those hushed conversations and his good mood promptly evaporated.

“Do their stares bother you?” Thorin looked as though he would like nothing better than to glare at the watching hobbits to frighten them off. He was still armed and could probably frighten all the neighbours into hiding under their beds if he started waving a sword around.

“It must be a slow day for gossip,” Bilbo muttered crossly. “But we needn’t concern ourselves with them . . . Ah, here’s Bag End!”

Home was still a refuge that beckoned to him. Hurrying up the path, Bilbo stopped to gaze upon the garden and drank in the familiar sight. “They haven’t started the planting yet. The ground’s a bit on the damp side--that’s probably it.”

Then Kíli actually had the presence of mind to ask if they could help in any way. 

“Oh you don’t have to!” Bilbo exclaimed. “You’re guests!”

“They probably want something like cake by way of a reward,” Thorin observed dryly.

Fíli looked slightly wounded by his uncle’s comment. “While Mistress and Master Baggins’ cooking is first-rate, we still haven’t repaid them for being nice to us. And there’s still the matter of _Bilbo_ \--”

“Oh not this again,” Thorin muttered.

Naturally, Bilbo demanded an explanation. Thorin stared off stonily into the distance while Dís sketched out the traditional version of what happened when a dwarf went to live with his lover’s clan or family.

“You mean you want to give my parents a _present_ because I went to live with you?” Bilbo asked. His eyebrows could not have climbed any higher on his face. Fíli and Kíli nodded earnestly while their mother kept her face completely neutral. Her eyes told a completely different story though. She appeared to be laughing silently at her brother.

When Belladonna Baggins emerged from Bag End to investigate the noises in the vegetable garden half an hour later, she was so surprised that she almost dropped the poker she was carrying at the sight of Fíli and Kíli loosening the soil under the direction of Bilbo.

“Bilbo!”

“Mum!”

“You’re back!” Belladonna exclaimed, flinging her arms around his neck and embracing him with a strength that Bilbo did not know she possessed. “And what are you doing to the garden?”

“Well, there’s something to be said about dwarvish traditions,” Bilbo began when he got his breath back. “And a little extra help with the tilling won’t go amiss. You know Thorin, Fíli and Kíli . . . and this is Thorin’s sister Dís.”

Dís’ introduction caused Belladonna to immediately resume her role as hostess. “Oh Bilbo, you can’t make your guests muck about in the garden!”

“Ah, well, there’s an interesting dwarrow tradition that I thought we ought to adhere to,” Bilbo said cheerfully. “Do you think we can rustle up some more second breakfast while Fíli and Kíli finish with the vegetable beds? I’ll explain it while we cook.”

Belladonna had gone out to see the world beyond the borders of the Shire and was made of fairly stern stuff. She managed to take most of it in her stride as she ushered her son and two dwarves into her home. “Bungo! Bilbo’s back!” she called.

There was something of a tearful reunion as Bungo left off second breakfast to greet Bilbo. Thorin and Dís politely looked elsewhere as Bungo alternatively admonished his son and told him how glad he was that Bilbo was back. They were worried by how thin he had become, but marvelled at how much more muscular his back and shoulders were. His parents were probably exaggerating--Bilbo had weighed himself on the mining scales and knew that he had only lost about half a stone overall. His clothes still fit, so he was in no danger of bursting through the seams.

When the Baggins family had composed themselves, they insisted that Thorin and Dís sit down in the dining room while they prepared more food for second breakfast.

“Why are Thorin’s nephews tilling the garden?” Bungo wondered as he looked out of the kitchen window in bemusement. Having Bilbo back had put him in a good mood.

And Bilbo had to explain it all to his parents as they made two new pots of tea, put more sausages and bacon on the griddle to cook and made toast. He found himself sliding back into the comfortable routine of preparing second breakfast as he talked. It just felt so good to be cooking with his parents in the homely kitchen with all the familiar utensils and the delicious smell of sizzling sausages and eggs rising from the stove.

Perhaps spurred on by the savoury fragrance wafting from the kitchen window, the young dwarves finished breaking up the soil in record time and hurried in to wash their hands and faces before their meal.

Fíli and Kíli needed no introductions. Or any additional invitation to tuck into second breakfast despite Thorin and Dís signalling at them to slow down and mind their manners. The dwarves no doubt thought that the hobbits’ supplies were low after the winter months, but Bilbo knew that they were going to be surprised by the depths of the multiple pantries of Bag End. They had survived the Fell Winter through careful rationing of the contents of their five pantries and two wine cellars.

Belladonna and Bungo kept the plates of eggs, sausages, bacon, fried tomatoes and buttered toast coming as the dwarves set to it with a will. To his dismay, Bilbo found that his time under the mountain had caused his appetite to shrink and he could only just manage seconds.

“Bilbo tells me that you grow prize-winning tomatoes, Mistress Baggins,” Dís said over her third cup of tea. Bilbo noticed that she was being as charming as her brother was stoic. Dís’ brand of charm was an interesting blend of honesty and moments of outright flattery--she had already complemented the tea, the jam and the most excellent Eastfarthing pork sausages.

“All credit goes to Bungo and Hamfast--he’s our gardener,” Belladonna said while Bungo beamed at the praise. “If the soil dries a little more, you might be able to see them get on with the sowing. Hamfast will probably thank you for helping with the garden.”

This was, of course, a not very subtle way of asking the dwarves how long they would be staying.

“It is quite likely,” Dís replied as her sons beamed over their plates of food. “We plan to hold a trade fair and might stay in the Shire for a week.”

Bungo and Belladonna immediately offered the guest bedrooms to them and Dís had to explain that they would stay in their camp because it would not be fair to the other dwarves.

“Such a lot of responsibility,” Bungo remarked as he poured more tea. He had grown slightly wide-eyed at the thought of a hundred dwarves in the Shire.

“Well, yes, that’s related to another thing . . .” Bilbo brought out his map case with its many documents and fidgeted with the fastenings. “Thorin’s not just the leader of his people and it’s not fair for me to ask you to sign our contract without knowing all the facts.”

After checking that there were no nosy neighbours under the window sill or just passing by, the scions of the Line of Durin explained to Bungo and Belladonna that Bilbo had not just run off with a dwarrow blacksmith and Thorin was not just the leader of a small colony of dwarves in Ered Luin.

In deference to Thorin, who looked more uncomfortable by the minute, Dís concluded with, “Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór . . . crown-prince of Durin’s Folk in exile.”

Thorin still insisted that he was not the king yet. It was one of his deeply-rooted issues and one that he sometimes clashed with Dís on. Unable to win that particular battle, his sister allowed him the unrealistic hope that Thráin was still alive somewhere despite not truly believing it herself.

After the announcement of Thorin’s titles, Bungo’s mouth had fallen open in shock. Belladonna was less easily amazed, but she looked extremely thoughtful as she carefully set down her teacup in its saucer.

Bilbo then filled them in on what had happened after he had left Hobbiton. No grand castles or feasts featured in them, but they had all agreed that telling the Bagginses the unvarnished truth was the best course of action.

“Well, you’ve certainly been on an adventure,” Belladonna said at last. “More than what your letter suggested.”

“It’s not something I’d put in a letter, Mum.” It was not that Bilbo did not trust Adalgrim, but he felt that news of such import ought to be given in person. 

“It’s certain food for thought, Bilbo,” Bungo admitted. “And what do we call them now? It is very strange to have a king at your dining room table.”

“No titles are necessary,” Thorin said stiffly. “There is no kingdom to rule and we’re just tradesmen at the moment.”

“They’re travelling incognito. And we’d like it to remain a secret for now.” Bilbo knew that Thorin had a lot of pride in his family name, but this was neither the time nor place to wave it about. 

“No fear--I think we’ll need to sit on that for a while. We could all use a bracing walk now. I hope you will not mind a tour of the village? The dishes can wait.” Belladonna believed that a walk was good for thinking and so they all found themselves strolling through Hobbiton in order to show Dís the sights.

As it turned out, Belladonna found other things to do on a walk that day besides answering Dís’s queries on the finer points of hobbit architecture.

The village was probably abuzz with the news of Bilbo’s return for there were many curious faces peered out at them from windows and over garden gates. 

Bilbo felt his shoulders tensing up again under all that scrutiny. Thorin picked up on it and his uneasiness was reflected in the tight grip he maintained on his axe. His mother and father were not oblivious to it.

“Doreen! Good day!” Belladonna’s greeting was directed at the rim of a bonnet that could just be seen above the hedge that lined the path. “Bilbo’s back and he’s brought his friends to meet us.”

Belladonna used manners like a snare. Hobbits could not run off when she had hailed them and they were introduced to “Bilbo’s friends”. Dís observed all of this with great interest and nodded politely to the nervous hobbits. Fíli and Kíli did not need any encouragement--they grinned cheerfully at the people they recognised from their time in the Shire.

“This is our Mam,” they said, unabashedly proud to show Dís off to everyone. It was interesting to watch the folk of Hobbiton stumble a little as they realised that they were addressing a female dwarf and a matron who was probably well over a hundred years old. 

Basic politeness dictated that they had to speak to either Bilbo or the dwarves after an introduction. At least a _how d’you do?_ or _how have you been?_

Over these awkward exchanges, Dís took the opportunity to tell the hobbits that the dwarves of Ered Luin were holding a trade fair.

“You’ll come, won’t you?” Kíli asked earnestly and Bilbo felt his grin go wider as his neighbours quickly agreed. There was nothing quite like watching Kíli’s doe-eyed charm at work.

Even Bungo and Thorin started to smirk as various acquaintances were hailed and reintroduced to the one they had been calling “Mad Baggins” all winter.

For his part, Bilbo acted as though he had just returned from an extended holiday. Nothing in his demeanour suggested that he knew about the rumours circulating around the village and the other hobbits were so taken aback by their brazenness that they could only nod along.

“I believe it is time for lunch,” Belladonna said after a most eventful circuit around Hobbiton. 

“Why yes, my dear, I believe we have some excellent pork chops waiting in the cold pantry.” Bungo offered his arm to his wife and winked at Bilbo. “Come along now, son, we’ve got lunch to prepare.”

“With Missus Gamgee’s special chutney? Oh we are in for a treat,” Bilbo said to his extended family. 

The Bagginses’ good mood was infectious. Thorin extended his arm to Bilbo and Fíli did the same for Dís. Walking arm in arm with his dwarf king and with the people he cared for the most, Bilbo felt his earlier worries melt away. It would not stop the hobbits of the Shire from referring to Bilbo as Mad Baggins, but there really was nothing the neighbours could do or say to spoil his homecoming.

Hamfast Gamgee came over after lunch to work on the garden and was pleasantly surprised to find most of the laborious parts already done. He was even more surprised to find Bilbo back and with an entire family of dwarves in tow, but once Dís got him talking about how tomatoes were cultivated, there was no stopping him from sharing his passion.

“I think we should give Bilbo some time alone with his family,” Thorin said to Dís after an afternoon of puttering around the garden and alternatively quizzing the gardener and getting a lot of information about tomatoes and potatoes. Tea had happened at one point, taken under the shade of the trellises. It was probably getting late too.

“I’ll be right along tomorrow morning,” Bilbo said, pleased that the dwarves were giving him space. Thorin and Dís had lost their parents under tragic circumstances and understood the need for family reunions. “Hold the fort.”

“We’ll survive without you for one night!” Fíli and Kíli ambled off down the lane with Thorin and Dís trailing behind them.

“Now shall we get on with dinner?” Belladonna asked when they finally shut the door. “You can fill us in on everything else including the fine print on that contract.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spring in the Shire was warmer than what they were used to on the road. Kíli was glad of the lighter tunics that they had packed for the trip. They had washed up and he had done his best to comb the tangles out of his hair that morning before heading off to see the Bagginses.

Their mother had left off her steel helm and corslet for the visit. The steel and glass beads in her hair had been accumulated over the years, each one accepted solemnly from her sons as proof of their skills. Dís would examine each one with a critical eye and pronounce it an improvement over the last.

Fíli had started it when he had started learning metal craft and dabbled in glassblowing for a spell. He had been especially proud of the glass beads with bands of colour suspended within them. Not having any gems or gold to work with, Kíli had followed his brother's example, throwing most of his youthful enthusiasm into intricate etchings on the limited surface area of beard clasps and beads.

The sunlight caused the glass and metal to gleam and sparkle so that it looked like their mother had a net of precious stones in her hair. Kíli thought she looked very regal despite not having any real jewels to wear. He was aware of the hobbits peering out at them from behind their hedges as they headed for Bilbo’s home. They had probably never seen a female dwarf like his mother--not one in skirts at any rate. He was not certain why they were gossiping about Bilbo though--perhaps they were envious of him and his travels.

Second breakfast was certainly something he could get used to after all that gardening. Bag End was as cosy as they remembered it to be and would always be associated with wonderful meals in Kíli’s mind.

They introduced their mother to all the hobbits that Mistress Baggins spoke to on their walk that day. She was intent on spreading the news that they had brought their wares and services to trade, but that was Mam all over--always thinking about how to make their uncle’s grand plan work. Lots of people had said that they would come down to see the dwarves’ market.

The walk had done Bilbo some good. He was obviously in a better mood now for he had been grinning for most of the encounters. Even Mister Baggins Senior and their uncle had started to smile after each meeting.

Lunch was more delicious than second breakfast, if that was even possible. As predicted, the pork chops with peas and chipped potatoes had been excellent and there had been jam roly-poly for pudding. Pleasantly full, Kíli almost drowsed off in the Bagginses’ garden as his mother had a long chat with Hamfast Gamgee.

Thorin eventually said that they should go back to the others. Bilbo was staying so that he could have some time with his parents. 

But when they reached Bywater and the approximate location of the camp, they found the wagons parked on a mostly flat field, the campfires started and a number of dwarves on guard. They appeared to be involved in a staring competition with a number of hobbits from Bywater.

It did not appear to be a good start at all.

Hlif had been on the lookout for them and she was signing rapidly at their mother the moment they came into view. Kíli caught most of it even as they hurried to reach the campsite.

_They wouldn't stop staring. Some of ours got agitated. Sorry._

The look on Dís face as she received the information was one of exasperation. It was her _I only left you lot for five minutes and I come back to this_ look and it was mirrored by Thorin’s scowl. But Dís was smarter than their uncle because she could use the fabled temper of her clan for more than just shouting at people.

Dís’ sigh was audible to everyone. _Not your fault. Need to get this sorted out._

Their mother looked at the scene, assessed the situation quickly and leaned over to speak in Kíli’s ear. "Get your fiddle out and play. Tell your brother to find the other musicians and someone who can carry a tune. A _cheerful_ tune, mind."

A quick dash around the camp brought the better musicians together. After a whispered discussion with Bofur, they started playing a familiar jig. Bofur matched a whimsical set of lyrics to the tune and soon got more dwarves to join in.

Their mother had not been idle in that time. As he fiddled away, Kíli saw Dís in conference with Thorin. Hlif and a few others were dispatched to buy beer and ale from the public house.

Hobbits liked music and merriment. Kíli could see a few of them drawing closer. Some of them were bobbing their heads along to the tune. But it was the younger dwarrows that made the hobbits let down their guard.

Drawn by the music, the children and the adolescents peered out from behind their parents and were soon gambolling about around the musicians. Most of them would probably take up instruments they favoured and acquire a certain degree of mastery, but for now they simply revelled in the music.

It certainly brought a smile to some of the watchers and the tension faded considerably.

The ale and beer arrived in six barrels and even Dwalin relaxed after that. Bombur had supper ready by them and Kíli took a welcome break with the other musicians.

Kíli hoped that he did not possess a bad temper. He would never know what to do in situations that required fixing and not an arrow to the throat. Fortunately, according to their mother, Fíli appeared to have inherited their father's temperament.

“Mam said that people looking for a fight don’t bring their wives and children along,” Fíli said as he took a sip of his ale. The taste seemed to agree with him and he took a longer pull. “Maybe they didn’t know that we had womenfolk and kids with us.”

This was borne out when a few hobbits finally came forward to speak to them. They first approached Thorin, the most familiar dwarf after two seasons of work in the Shire, and Dís, the only obviously female dwarf. 

Dís had been well prepared for their questions and she made sure that Fíli and Kíli were as well. No, Thorin was not setting up shop in the smithy yet. Yes, there were lots of other dwarf craftsmen here at the moment. Yes, they had a great variety of tools and utensils to sell. No, they were not open for business until the next morning.

“They’ll spread the word to their neighbours--that way there’ll be more hobbits coming tomorrow morning,” Balin said over his bowl of stew. “That was a smart move. That and the bairns dancing about.”

“Sleep early, there’ll be work to be done tomorrow,” Dís said as she swept by on her rounds.

“You too, Mum.” Fíli stood up and brushed the grass off his tunic. “You and uncle are working yourselves too hard. Let us do something--”

“You’ve helped Bilbo to till the vegetable garden today and there will be plenty for you to do tomorrow.” And she voiced a suggestion that made Thorin and Balin chuckle.

“Master Baggins will certainly be surprised!”

Kíli put it down on the mental list of things they had to do tomorrow morning. Bilbo would have a pleasant surprise when he arrived the next day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo’s return to Bag End was both joyous and bittersweet. They had talked late into the night after supper, mostly about his experiences and what he would do next.

“You’re our only child, Bilbo, but you would have grown up anyway, dwarves or no dwarves,” Bungo admitted as he smoked his pipe. They were sitting around the fireplace in their favourite chairs as usual and it was as though the past few months had never happened.

“It’s a dangerous road you’ll tread if you follow your dwarf king.” Belladonna had a dress to mend, but her eyes were intent on her son as she spoke to him. “But it’s your choice in the end.”

“And make time to visit!” Bungo demanded peevishly. “It gets boring with just the neighbours gossiping about you all winter!”

They would probably sign that contract while telling him to have warm clothes for a journey to places that Belladonna had never ventured to. They would probably wait, heart in mouth, for his return every autumn and spring.

This was obvious in the way they had kept his room exactly as he had left it, right down to the books on the shelves and the papers on his writing desk. 

Bilbo felt a lump growing in his throat as he looked at his room and he almost cried right there and then.

It was odd to sleep in a bed without the warm bulk of Thorin right next to him, but the familiar surroundings lulled him into sleep eventually.

In the morning, they made all his favourites for breakfast including griddlecakes with dried berries fried in the pan after the bacon had been cooked in it. Bilbo savoured every mouthful and did the dishes afterwards as usual, trying to imprint all the familiar moments in his memory.

After breakfast, Bilbo and his parents went to market and met many other hobbits on the road that lead to Bywater. There were a few cautious “good mornings” exchanged and Bungo nodded cordially to people who had not invited the Bagginses to their Yule parties.

The dwarves’ trade fair was in full swing by midmorning and whatever reservations the hobbits had about having so many dwarves in their midst were not as strong as the need for new hinges and new nails. The goodwives of the Shire were also flocking towards the cloth, metal utensils and fine needles on sale.

“I forgot to ask you what you wanted to buy,” Bilbo admitted sheepishly. He could probably get them at a better price.

“Well it’s a good thing we’ve made a shipping list then,” Bungo said as he fished the folded sheet of paper from his pocket. “Not just necessities and niceties for ourselves, mind. We’ve got a couple of parties and weddings lined up.”

Belladonna’s efforts had kept the Bagginses from becoming total social pariahs. To no-one’s surprise, the Sackville-Bagginses had invited them to Otho’s wedding. Lobelia had postponed it to the end of summer just to be able to have the last wedding of the season.

“They’d never risk being written out of the will,” Belladonna observed with a sniff as they strolled along the lines of wooden stalls made from the beds of wagons that appeared to have sprung up overnight. 

“So not just the contents of the mathom cupboard for them then?” Bilbo tried to rack his brains for a suitably nice gift for his relatives.

“Oh no, we commissioned a set of crockery for them,” Bungo told him. “Gold-trim with a pattern of clashing bright green leaves and oranges on good Westfarthing china.”

“With their initials done in vines,” Belladonna said resignedly.

Bilbo imagined that particular present in all its garish glory and shuddered a little. But family was _family_ no matter how awful they were. “Lobelia would probably love it. I’ll help you bargain for the rest.”

Some of the dwarves were willing to haggle and adjust their prices. A few had interesting conditions for discounts too, as Bilbo learned that day.

“Do you know Bilbo Baggins? Special prices for friends of Bilbo Baggins,” Bofur announced to the hobbits clustered around the toymakers’ stall. Bifur’s exquisite creations took centre stage for it would not do to sell toys that the local craftsmen could also produce. Dwarven clockwork and mechanisms that could make little wood and metal animals move were very popular amongst the hobbits that day.

Belladonna bought as many toys as she could that day for she had a lot of nieces and nephews to gift them to. She even went to where Bifur was sitting at a workbench made of some planks nailed to a pair of barrels to look at the pieces he was working on. Not being able to speak any language other than Khuzdul, Bifur managed to convey that he was pleased that someone was interested in his craft.

“Bifur says that he’ll give your mum a really good price,” Bofur confided to Bilbo as his mother looked intent on buying up the entire stall. “And delivery is on the house ‘cos he seems to like her.”

After the toymakers, they soon came to the area where the craftsmen specialising in metal and glass had set up shop. Thorin and his sister-sons had their own stall in the market, blending in with the other artificers and smiths. Thorin had retreated behind a temporary workbench and left the greeting of customers to Fíli and Kíli as usual. There was a home-made sign in front of their stall and Bilbo recognised the handwriting immediately.

_Repairs at half price for friends of Bilbo Baggins._

“I wonder how many people have had the nerve to claim that discount,” Bilbo mused as Bungo turned his guffaw into a cough and Belladonna’s shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. 

Bilbo suspected Dís’ hand in it. The dwarves were busy with their work, so Bilbo did not stay too long to chat. He mentioned it Nori when they met by chance at Bombur’s stall after Bilbo decided that he wanted a break from shopping. The dwarves could collect bowls of hot stew from the cook whenever they were hungry or could spare a moment between selling their wares and mending what the hobbits brought to be fixed.

“Yeah, that does sound like something her ladyship would do,” Nori said as he scraped the bottom of the bowl with his spoon. He did not need Dori to nag him to finish his food. “She doesn’t miss a trick.”

“I don’t think her family needs to do any more for us. This is like Yule ten times over.”

“Ah, you’ve mostly seen her good side.” Nori caught sight of Bilbo’s startled look and shook his head knowingly. “She’s just about the best organiser we’ve got and she’ll fight tooth an’ nail for her brother’s plan to work out, but that makes her the one to watch out for. If she’d thought that you were no good for her brother, you wouldn’t have spent a season under the mountain with him.”

“I imagine she would not take well to any who wished her family ill,” Bilbo said matter-of-factly. “An axe thrown at my head is the most I’d ever expect if I crossed any lines.”

“She does not hold an axe, but she commands enough of them to make me careful around her,” Nori said. “Now see that there? She’s talkin’ to young Gerd an’ pretty soon your gardener will have an apprentice.”

“It’s a convenient arrangement. I mean, some of you have to become experts on agriculture and horticulture before we can get any crops growing up in the high pastures.” Bilbo knew that Gerd had a talent for knowing what sort of minerals were in the ground. Dís’ probably hoped that it could translate into an affinity for growing things in soil.

“One day, you’ve got to ask Bofur to tell you how he an’ his kin joined up,” Nori said at last. “I learned to survive in the rough and cunnin’ came to me in the end, but royalty are taught to be cunnin’. Nothin’ half as scary as a noble grubbin’ around for survival with the rest of us.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Dori said, coming to sit down for his well-earned lunch. “He had to be told to go do something else instead of picking the pockets of the customers.”

“People hire me because I am that good,” Nori said, rising to leave. “Speakin’ of which, I have a job to do.”

“Oh, he’s been warned about stealing,” Dori said to Bilbo as he tucked into his food. “He won’t make much trouble--not when we’ve been getting people asking if we’d come by again in another season or so.”

“Business is good, then?”

“I’m almost out of ribbons, that’s how good business has been,” Dori chuckled. “I’m going to have to take orders soon enough.” 

“I’ll have a look at some cloth after your lunch, if you don’t mind. I really should’ve thought about getting something for my Mum earlier,” Bilbo confessed. He knew that Dori had lighter fabrics for sale in addition to the hardy materials that dwarves favoured.

“I’ll show you the nicer ones I’ve got,” Dori promised him. He was as good as his word, pulling out bolts of fine textiles from under a protective canvas cover for Bilbo to peruse when they got back to his stall.

They were in the middle of deciding between some muslin with a floral pattern of roses and one with dandelions when Bilbo heard a pair of very familiar voices. Ducking behind a thick bolt of brocade, Bilbo confirmed that Lobelia was leading Otho their way.

“Dori, I’ll square this with you later, just follow my lead, all right?” Bilbo whispered to the weaver behind their cloth barricade.

“All right,” Dori replied, looking mystified as he set out his shears and measuring stick.

Mentally reminding himself to be pleasant, Bilbo waved at his cousin and his intended. “Otho, Lobelia, fancy meeting you here.”

“Bilbo--we heard you were back,” Otho said cautiously.

“Yes--and you and Lobelia are about to be married,” Bilbo said before Lobelia could start anything. “I’m not going to be at your wedding, so how about a present in advance?”

It took a while before Lobelia was convinced that he was not joking, but after some discussion, she and Otho walked off with a swath of brocade, some pink velvet and enough patterned muslin for summer frock.

“I wasn’t sure I was going to sell any of that orange and red brocade,” Dori confided to Bilbo after Lobelia and Otho had left--Otho had hurriedly invited him over for tea when he thought Lobelia was out of earshot. “D’you think other ladies might like it?”

Bilbo was glad that his good-will had been accepted, but feared for Lobelia’s wardrobe choices. “As a sofa cover, perhaps--”

“Bilbo Baggins! You’re back and you haven’t visited yet!” 

Turning, Bilbo found himself with an armful of Tansy Townsend. 

“I only got back yesterday! There was no time for visiting,” Bilbo managed to say as Tansy attempted to squeeze the breath from him. 

“You’re coming to tea tomorrow.” This was not a request, Bilbo knew.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming to tea at your place tomorrow. Are your parents all right with it?” 

“Well they’d better be after all the things I bought as a friend of Bilbo Baggins,” Tansy said with a wink. “A pound of nails, a new roasting-pan, half a dozen sherry glasses . . . And the shovel I brought for mending.”

“How about some fabric for a new dress to top it all off, Miss?” Dori chimed in. “I’ve got just the thing to match your lovely complexion.”

“Just not the orange and red brocade. You might clash with Lobelia,” Bilbo said automatically.

“And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Tansy asked rhetorically, eyeing the bolts of muslin speculatively. “She’s already the most overbearing bride-to-be.”

“I got her a wedding present to make up for not going,” Bilbo said, mentally listing down the things that Dori might like in exchange for the fabric--finely-milled soap, a bottle of Old Winyards perhaps, a good blend of tea and some books for Ori . . . 

“You’re much too nice.”

“I just don’t want to leave the Shire with any more bad feeling brewing in that branch of the family.” Bilbo knew that he was being optimistic, but he could not leave his parents to deal with the Sackville-Bagginses on their own. 

“I’ll tell you what’s been going on all winter--over tea tomorrow,” Tansy said firmly. “Now help me pick something nice for a summer dress. Something with a pattern that Lobelia didn’t pick.”

With an inward sigh, Bilbo calculated how much tea and wine he might have to trade in order to give Tansy a late Yule present.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to Steerpike13713 for beta-reading this chapter during the holiday period~
> 
> After my sister's wedding, I think I understand why the whole concept behind the prompt for _Seasons in the Sun_ appealed to me now after witnessing the symbolic dowry exchange, the tea-ceremony, planning the gate-crashing, rehearsals, the problem of finding a last-minute bridesmaid dress and the thousand and one things we forgot on the wedding day itself. Not that I am promoting elopement of any kind here--I'm just not a fan of the great big elaborate wedding and the stress that comes along with it.
> 
> In the meantime, I also collaborated with some really talented artists and writers for a [fanbook](http://jali-jali.tumblr.com/post/78636914670/in-order-to-celebrate-the-newest-installment-of)\--it's the first time I ever got this involved in fandom. (Yes, this is shameless self-promotion, but there are 17 other fan creators' works to check out even if you think I'm an insufferable ass.)


	13. Tea and Architecture

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo spent more than one night in Bag End during that week. He would devote the morning to baking and preparing meals with his parents before heading down to Bywater later in the day. Thorin understood the need for spending time with one’s parents, but he sometimes felt envious of the Bagginses and their apparently carefree life. Or perhaps he was also slightly envious of Bilbo, who had both parents alive and fussing over him.

He would not be alone in feeling that way. A lot of the dwarves had lost family members across the decades and they could not help but stare at the hobbit families with four or five children in tow. And Bilbo’s mother had a staggering number of siblings to hear him tell of the holidays spent with his cousins. No war had robbed them of their youths and the few lean periods they had experienced had not stripped the Shire of their infants and greybeards.

But they were kind to children and a good number of hardened veterans softened towards them when some hobbit stallholders offered candied fruit and various treats to the young ones at the end of the first day. Children were some sort of universal denominator and Dís was always glad to see the goodwives of the Shire chatting with ladies from the Blue Mountains who had to run their businesses with little ones in tow.

Dwarves like Nerís Five-swords, who made and sharpened blades of all descriptions and was a holy terror on the sparring grounds. She was seen exchanging tales about colicky infants and recipes for balms to sooth nappy rash with several ladies at her stall.

“Five-swords makes _Dwalin_ nervous in the sparring ring,” Thorin said as he caught sight of the flock of beribboned bonnets gathered around the blademaster’s sharpening wheel.

“And she was thrice-blessed with children. Third one born last summer, remember?” Dís bustled past with a pot of fresh coffee and a sheath of papers. She had been gathering information and making calculations in addition to checking how far their supplies would stretch. “Not that you actually bother much about the children until they’ve been formally presented to you,” she added.

Thorin was presented with the children of Durin’s Folk whenever they met him on the road. It was a way of saying that while they did not have gold or jewels, they had the next generation to bolster their ranks. And so Thorin had even more impetus to find them a home under stone after looking at those hopeful eyes hovering above a swaddled and often bawling red-faced infant.

Dís would remember their names and their parents’ names, but Thorin would remember that he had to give them something to grow up proud of. The work they did now would prevent the next generation from experiencing the privations that the children before them had gone through.

On their second day in the Shire, the Bagginses brought a wheelbarrow loaded with a dozen large cakes to the dwarf market. Their efforts at converting the dwarves to tea-drinking were mostly unsuccessful, but everyone agreed that stopping for a slice of cake at four in the afternoon was a good idea after getting an eyeful of the array of food on offer at the hobbits’ market. 

Thorin turned a blind eye to the bartering that started up amongst the dwarves and hobbits. A tasty wheel of cheese or leg of ham for a matching pair of candlesticks or coat-hooks. Perhaps a richly iced cake for pins and a new pair of scissors. His people were hankering after something more than a filling stew now. The youngsters were practically pop-eyed after staring at the food displays all day long. It would not hurt for them to enjoy themselves a little more for once. 

The abundance of edibles around him had also prompted Bombur to collect recipes while he was not tending to the stew-pot and he had to ask Dís for extra paper to write them down on. Bilbo was probably to blame, what with his tales of cinnamon tea bread, ginger cake and puddings of all descriptions. 

His mock-irritation with the hobbit did not stand up to close scrutiny. Especially after Bilbo looked at him pointedly after they had closed the stall for the day and strolled off to a small copse of trees well away from Bywater village.

While hobbits were naturally stealthy, dwarves had the advantage of excellent night vision. In the twilight, it did not take long for Thorin to follow the very obvious trail that Bilbo had left to a clearing that he had picked out.

There was a reason why Bilbo had picked a spot well away from any hobbit dwelling.

Thorin was very glad for the more hospitable climate of the Shire as they lay on a picnic blanket that Bilbo had thoughtfully brought along to catch their breath afterwards. They had the leisure of wiping themselves down before putting their clothes back on instead of huddling under a pile of blankets and Thorin was not ashamed to admit that they had lingered a little longer on the task than was strictly necessary. The contents of the picnic basket that Bilbo also brought along were investigated shortly after that and a rather good bottle of wine was thoroughly sampled. 

Leif the healer had been right about hobbits. Bilbo was in a _very_ good mood as he admired the emerging stars above them in between sipping wine and nibbling at the cheese and cold meats he had brought along. He pointed out a few constellations and Thorin, in his relaxed, half-drowsy state, was happy to listen and spend a precious hour in his company. Sleeping under a hand-rigged canvas awning with his sister and the lads should not have felt so strange, but he had grown accustomed to sleeping with Bilbo tucked up right next to him and being woken up by his cold feet pressing into his side in the morning.

After his time under the mountain, Bilbo knew that Thorin still belonged to his people and he had duties to attend to before he could retire for the night. As the moon made her appearance from behind a few low-lying clouds, they brushed off stray crumbs from their clothing before tidying up their impromptu picnic and returning to the dwarrow camp.

Fíli and Kíli had been looking out for them and they opened their mouths to say something crass or hoot loudly when Thorin and Bilbo came into view. But Dís was suddenly there, elbowing her way between her sons and causing them to squeak breathlessly with carefully-placed nudges. “You’re back just in time for supper. _If_ you’re having any supper,” she added pointedly.

Thorin was mostly full, but Bilbo sampled some of Bombur’s stew and pronounced it better than some of the fare he had eaten at the local taverns. The mood around the campfires was decidedly mellow after the dwarves brought their pipes out. Even Dís, who seldom indulged, sampled some of the local pipeweed as she scribbled away by firelight.

Dís had her sketches to occupy her extremely limited spare time. Thorin saw that she had drawn the front door of Bag End and the wood-panelled interior--all of them with rough calculations of their dimensions. 

“Incomplete circles, but structurally sound,” she noted in between tallying their earnings for the day and adding that up with what everyone else had earned. “Evidence of buttressing at the base of the curved walls. Definitely stone or brick reinforcements somewhere . . .”

“They might let you dig around if you asked nicely,” Thorin said around a mouthful of smoke. He was, as far as he could tell, feeling content and it made being away from Bilbo for another night easier to bear.

After seeing the sketches, Bilbo managed to find the original plans for Bag End and Bungo Baggins spent the afternoon of the fourth day bent over them with Dís, pointing out the integral principles that governed the construction of a smial.

“That’s architects and builders for you,” Thorin said to his sister-sons during the least hectic part of the afternoon. “Your mother isn’t going to be looking up for the next hour or two, so you better run along before she finds something for you to do.”

Needing no further encouragement, Fíli and Kíli scampered off for a much-needed break from mending tool handles and beating pokers back into shape. Bilbo had asked if they wanted to come along with the spring foraging party that day and it had been obvious to Thorin that the younger dwarves were eager to do something that was not related to hammering iron for a few hours.

As predicted, Dís and Baggins Senior did not notice the decreased noise level. Thorin set cups of tea by their elbows at four o’clock and finished resetting the clockwork mechanism of the third cuckoo clock that had been sent to them for repairs. Even reasonably well-made items wore down after a few years.

His sister-sons returned before dusk with Bilbo and several baskets of nettles, ramps and seasonal mushrooms. The noise of their return finally caused Bungo and Dís to raise their heads.

“That’ll make Bombur happy,” Dís said as she reached for her cup absentmindedly. She made a face after she tasted it. “This tea is cold.”

“Serves you right for leaving it so long,” Thorin said over the wooden roof of the cuckoo clock. He had set the hands to reflect the hour and Dís looked a little nonplussed at how fast the time had passed.

“We were so engrossed that we missed tea,” Bungo said, not the least bit bothered by the passage of time and an entire afternoon practically gone. “I never thought I’d have the chance to meet a master architect, so that’s fair.”

His sister looked uncommonly embarrassed--her fingers reached up to tug at her beard and stopped half-way when they could not find any hair to grasp. She always braided and tied it back to prevent her from fidgeting with the strands. “I haven’t really done any grand projects yet.”

It was his sister’s secret shame, but Thorin always said that they had not found the marble and basalt to build her mansions yet. Dís was much too busy with the repairs to the existing structures within Gabilgathol and mapping out the tunnel system to start on original buildings. Her designs for collapsible tents and easy-to-build shelters were born of necessity and not whimsy. While not keeping the records of the diaspora, she had managed to raise two sons--the sole tangible monuments of her own creation.

Said creations were currently wrestling each other behind the stall because Kíli had made fun of Fíli’s fledging attempt at growing a beard again. Bilbo had seen all this before and was chuckling at their antics while his father looked on in bemusement. With a sigh that was far more threatening than any thrashing Thorin could dish out, Dís waded into the fray and dragged her lads up by their ears when they did not stop pummelling each other.

Thorin studiously examined the screws on the back of the cuckoo clock while his sister muttered in Khuzdul about overgrown children who could not behave themselves in public. His sister-sons might have started howling about the unfairness of it all, but other dwarves were watching and they submitted to their fate without too much whimpering.

“Probably latrine duty or doing the dishes,” Thorin said to Bilbo and Bungo after Dís had marched her offspring away to perform some useful but mundane task. There was no chance of Fíli or Kíli developing an overinflated ego as long as Dís still breathed.

“That’s happens at least every week,” Bilbo informed Bungo. “I’ll walk you home, Dad. And we’ll bring some of these fresh mushrooms back to Mum.”

Dís bustled back in time to see Bilbo and his father strolling down the path that would take them to Hobbiton. They waved at the dwarves and quite a few of them waved back. “It really is like an eternal holiday here,” she observed to her brother. “And not just for the hobbits--I really wonder how they get any work done.” 

“It is possible to become immersed in the rhythm of this place,” Thorin said calmly as he examined the innards of the heirloom music box that had lost its tune. The spring was rusted through. “Sometimes, everything appears to slow down.”

“That’s the thing where you let me fritter away an entire afternoon?” his sister asked, obviously torn between amusement and disgruntlement.

“You wanted to get to know Bilbo’s family and learn about hobbits. It appears that you have succeeded.” Thorin replaced the rusted spring and wound the mechanism up via the little silver-plated key. The resulting tune was pleasant enough, if a little unimaginative.

“You’re so mellow right now I’m tempted to ask who drugged your coffee. Or when my brother was replaced by his identical twin,” Dís said, shaking her head as she put away her drawing tools. “But I know you’ve been sneaking off wi--”

“It’s never what your sons will say that worries me,” Thorin sighed. “You . . . You do _approve_ of Bilbo, do you not?”

“More and more by the day,” Dís admitted. “He has some potential within him . . . And his mother is a canny one too. If anyone’s going to come after you for hurting her son, it’s going to be _her_.”

A dwarf only had to look at Mistress Baggins to understand where Bilbo got his spirit from--it was that obvious. “More reason not to give her cause to do so then.”

“The old saying holds true. You do not take just your spouse but their entire family--the good parts and the bad parts.” Dís remained in contact with her late husband’s family, Thorin knew. She kept them updated about Fíli and Kíli’s progress and the reclamation of Ered Luin via messages and infrequent visits. 

The Bagginses would probably prefer their updates to come with their son. Pleasant as Bilbo’s immediate family was, the Sackville-Bagginses were, regrettably, included in the extended package. Like Thorin’s distant kinsman Nori, they were morally compromised in certain ways, but a lot less charming in person. It was known that greed was not, strictly speaking, a negative trait for dwarves. Nor was coveting what your neighbours had. But stepping over the boundaries of their laws and being openly avaricious in dwarrow society was not acceptable. 

The Sackville-Bagginses had not openly broken the laws of the Shire while maintaining a certain level of respectability. But Nori knew most of the tricks of the thieves’ game and he had been keeping an eye out for wandering hands when he was not collecting information for Dís. Hobbits, as a rule, were mostly honest beyond the odd adolescent theft of vegetables and pantry-raiding. They were not into hard bargaining and most of the dwarrow merchants could be dissuaded from fleecing them outright. Dís’ people were also on watch for any trouble from any aggressive factions that might object to dwarves in their midst. 

Trouble was something they did not need right now, Thorin thought as he closed the music box. Just as long as he did not meet anyone from _that_ branch of the family, he could prevent himself from causing actual trouble by punching them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When their mother called them to order on the third evening in the Shire, Fíli and his brother adopted expressions of solemn dignity as they approached her makeshift office. Or what they thought were suitably dignified expressions. Dís liked to test them occasionally about what they had learned and was fond of springing little tests on them.

Fíli and Kíli had resigned themselves to tongue-tied terror in the face of such assessments, but to their complete surprise, they were not completely rubbish at it.

Laying a hand on her pile of ledgers, Dís eyed her sons expectantly. “How do you reckon we’re doing so far?” 

“Not as well as we could have if we had gauged the market properly and brought in more stock of certain items,” Fíli answered promptly. “We’re doing better than expected for custom services and repairs though.” 

Their mother raised a questioning eyebrow.

“And Nori’s been sussing out information for you,” Kíli surmised quickly. “Mostly about who does the farming here.”

“He’s been doing that for ages,” Fíli reminded his brother. 

“It keeps him out of trouble. Most of the time.” Dís spread out a map of Eriador on the bare planks. “All right, we got a settlement here. Or the beginnings of one in the old city at any rate. What do we need now?”

“Food. The stuff that we can’t hunt from the woods within a day’s journey of Ered Luin,” Fíli clarified. “We’ve got enough iron to make tools and coal to fuel the forges with.”

There was no point in wishing for the rocky ground under the mountain to cough up gold or gemstones. Fíli and Kíli knew enough to pay attention to where their next meal was coming from. Venison from the hunt and short rations meant boring meals and limited nourishment, no matter how talented the cook. 

“So the nearest large farms are here, in the Shire. We’ve bought most of last winter’s supplies from them.” Kíli looked pleased to be able to contribute that observation.

“Are we getting more supplies in for the next winter?”

“We’re getting some right now to send back.” Dís turned to look over the rest of the camp. “At least a third of our number will return to the city to start work again.”

“Yeah, we’re running out of some items from what I hear.” Fíli looked at his brother surreptitiously. Surely their mother would not order them back to the mountain now?

She was thinking about it, that much she could tell. But with a gusty sigh, she faced them again and said, “I expect you’ll be tagging along with Thorin if he has to go further south.”

Treading down firmly on Kíli’s foot under the table to prevent him from jumping up right there and then, Fíli nodded calmly despite his elation. “We’re not fully trained yet. Not up to Uncle’s standards, at least. And there are other hunters to supply the settlement with meat.”

“Yeah--Uncle Thorin would never forgive us if we skived off training or practising the craft,” Kíli managed to say without shouting the roof canvas down. This was not a lie--Thorin had exacting standards for weapon-work and metal-work. But it would be worth it to travel with him and see the rest of Eriador. The others would also seek work on the road if they could--merchant caravans paid well for dwarf guards.

“Oh good. Then you can keep track of expenses and earnings if I don’t go with you beyond Bree,” Dís said with a smile that her sons knew and dreaded. “I’ll check your sums when you come back.”

Swallowing their groans, Fíli and Kíli nodded dutifully. Doing the accounts was only stressful when their mother was going to look over their work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo was surprised to see the dwarves dismantling their stalls on the morning of the fifth day. He managed to find Dori in the midst of the organised chaos, looking very calm and methodical as he pried nails out of the planks that formed the base of his display stand.

"Well, you see, I am almost out of stock. Ribbons--all gone. Patterned muslin--sold out. The linen was gone by the second day. I haven't got enough of the basic materials to sell," Dori explained to Bilbo as he worked out each nail carefully and set it aside to be reused. "So I've passed the remainder of the cloth on to Needlemaker to sell with her pins and haberdashery. She said she'd only take fifteen percent of each sale--generous offer, I thought."

Iorís Needlemaker patted the bolts of cloth strapped to her small cart and nodded cheerfully. "That's right. I've only got a quarter of my stock left. We thought that it’d be better if we pooled everything we had left for the next leg of the trip. Dori needs time to get new materials for a season’s work and I’ve already got the steel I need back in the city."

“Dye is a nuisance to sort out on top of raw wool right now,” Dori agreed as he stacked the planks back into the wagon bed as easily as Bilbo might arrange his bookshelf. “Oh, and thank you for the tea and wine, Bilbo. Ori will be very pleased with the books.”

 

After biding Dori good bye, Bilbo caught sight of Dís in the crowd eventually. She was directing the reassembly of carts from the materials that had been used to make awnings and shelters.

“Are they getting ready to leave for the mountains again?”

Dís nodded at some dwarves carting some barrels away and turned to Bilbo. “Oh yes, we’re ahead of schedule now. We could still meet up with you later if you want to stay longer--”

“Um, no, I’m actually looking forward to going to Tuckborough,” Bilbo said, reassured now that everything was still going according to plan. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen my cousins and the rest of the family.”

Satisfied that Thorin’s people were doing all right and that his parents were not going to panic if he left them alone for a few hours, Bilbo donned a smart waistcoat and brushed his hair before making his way to the Townsend residence.

Tansy’s parents and sisters were not at home to gawk. She had arranged for Bilbo to come when her sisters were at a second dress-fitting for a cousin’s wedding and her parents had an appointment for tea with the Hobbiton branch of the Proudfoots--or Proudfeet as they insisted on being called. 

The Townsends' parlour was comfortably decorated in shades of golden ochre with a border of pale pink roses and green leaves running around the circumference of the almost circular room. Poofs and plush rugs were available for the comfort of hobbit feet. Bilbo made himself at home on the sofa and appreciated the fresh flower arrangements--mostly simple but attractive posies--on the low tables and stands.

There was something indescribably comforting to sit down in a friend’s parlour and wait for the rattling of the tea tray and its associated crockery. A stack of scones and biscuits would inevitably follow. The better cakes were usually reserved for the host or hostess’ favoured guests. Bilbo was pleased to see that Tansy still held him in high regard when she brought out a dense cake loaded with candied fruit.

“It’s not exactly a pudding, but you did say you missed the Yule goodies,” Tansy said as she set down the platter.

“That looks lovely.” Bilbo inhaled the scent of tea and caught a whiff of fragrant rum from the fruit cake. “I thought I’d never get invited to tea again. Though the invitations have been few and far between these days.”

“Oh, about _that_ ,” Tansy murmured with a roll of her eyes as she poured the tea and handed him a plate of food. “People are still talking.”

“Surely I’m old news by now?” Bilbo inhaled the aroma of the tea and sighed happily as he prepared to dive into the scones and cake.

Tansy settled back in her armchair with her own cup of tea and cake. “The rumour mill has been working overtime as usual. Some of them think that dwarves might have got the wrong idea from you. The worst of them think that randy dwarves will start looking for young hobbits to spirit away. They’re being really silly about it.”

Bilbo almost choked on his tea. The very thought of the dwarves luring hobbits away to the mountains!

Well, his had been an isolated case. The only one, in all likelihood. None of the other dwarves had expressed an interest in hobbits. Actually, Fíli and Kíli had got along fairly well with those girls at his coming-of-age party and the spring foraging party . . .

Bilbo resolved to keep an eye on his extended family.

“It’s not as though there haven’t been one or two youngsters who actually thought about running off to--”

The sound of hoof beats on the path outside brought a sudden but welcome interruption to their private tea and Tansy turned her head towards the door before she could see Bilbo’s expression. 

“Hullo!” Adalgrim’s voice reached them as Tansy went to open the door. “I’ve heard that there’s a dwarf market and-- _Bilbo_ , welcome back!”

Bilbo prudently set his tea cup down so that he would not drop it after hearing another one of Tansy’s revelations. A glimpse through the hallway and the open door showed Nellie the pony looking perfectly at home tethered to the Townsends’ ornamental gatepost while her rider bounded into the smial with his usual energy. Adalgrim gallantly kissed Tansy’s hand and handed her a slightly lopsided bouquet of wildflowers before coming over to thump Bilbo on the back.

“I thought you had something to do with all those dwarves camped out at Bywater!”

“I said I’d come back eventually,” Bilbo said, glad to see another friendly face.

Ensconced on the Townsends' roomy sofa with his cousin, Bilbo looked at the plate Tansy passed to Adalgrim and decided that she was feeling quite well-disposed towards his cousin at the moment if the size of the slice of cake was any indication. Adalgrim either did not notice this minute detail or was used to such treatment by then. He thanked Tansy and started on his food while quizzing Bilbo about his trip back to the Shire. 

It was good to be amongst hobbits he knew and were on good terms with. Bilbo always had a low tolerance for visitors he did not particularly like--something he had inherited from his mother, Bungo always said. He found himself relaxing more when he was at home with his parents or in company of familiar friends. While the other dwarves were slowly defrosting toward him, Bilbo was still unused to the way they expressed themselves and sometimes spoke to each other in ways that he had no way of following. Here, he could read the subtle signs that spelled out who was flirting with whom and which family were on speaking terms with his clan. Tansy and Adalgrim were more than willing to share a season's gossip with him as well.

Their conversation eventually turned to his future plans and the tricky scheduling imposed by Bilbo's current travel plans. Bilbo would probably miss Tansy's coming of age party in July. He apologized profusely and privately promised that he would fetch her a gift that would make up for it. Something for her trousseau, he thought shrewdly as he watched his cousin and his good friend over the rim of his tea cup. Tansy had placed Adalgrim’s flowers in a small vase and set it on the central table--a place of honour. His dear cousin, for all his wanderlust, was not an unintelligent hobbit--he would probably make his move after Tansy's coming of age celebration.

“Going on the road with your dwarves again--that sounds like another adventure," Tansy remarked, a little envious of him and worried for him at the same time.

“Ah well then, I might be of service to your lady mother and Tansy again as a messenger.” Adalgrim winked at Tansy, who blushed to her ear tips. They were warming up to each other--well beyond the initial attraction, if Bilbo was any judge.

There would be some time for him to come up with wedding presents after Adalgrim's probable proposal and Tansy's hypothetical acceptance. One thing at a time, Bilbo thought to himself. He had enough on his plate for three hobbits right now without needing to worry about these two lovebirds.

“Oh no--that’d be too much to ask,” Bilbo said quickly. “I’ll be back again before winter rolls around.”

“Where are you headed now?” Adalgrim asked.

“Ah well, about that . . .” Bilbo leaned in and Tansy and Adalgrim followed suit. “I need a favour from you, Adders, to make sure that this goes as smoothly as possible . . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the morning the dwarves left Bywater, it rained. But the rain petered out into a light drizzle and by the time the contingent that was heading for Tuckborough bade farewell to the groups of dwarves that were going to buy supplies for the settlement, the sun was out in full force. Sunlight gleamed off the droplets caught in various braids and beards as the dwarves hauled their wares across the low hills of the Shire and onto the main road. The seasoned travellers were relieved that there were no muddy bogs to traverse. Thorin cautiously took the weather as a good sign and started out with the wagons that had remained covered for the entire length of their stay in Bywater.

To his surprise, Bilbo Baggins had turned up with his parents in tow that morning. They were going on a short walking holiday to visit Mistress Baggins’ family. Bungo Baggins was gamely striding along beside his wife, both of them bearing sensible walking sticks and travelling packs. 

Baggins Senior displayed tendencies Thorin had previously observed in Bilbo. Belladonna Baggins had to keep him moving every time he noticed a flower or insect he wanted to observe and it was clear that it had been a while since he had gone on a walking holiday. Dís and Hlif hung back to listen to Belladonna pointing out the edible plants they passed on the road that led south. Tuckborough had been Mistress Baggins’ home once and they could not have had a better guide.

It was late afternoon by the time they managed to get the wagons to Great Smials. They could have made it there by lunch-time if they did not have goods and various family members to transport, but the hobbits probably appreciated the slower pace. The younger dwarves also kept running off into the hedgerows and coming back with the odd caterpillar or quartz-flecked stone. No-one was going to begrudge them their playtime.

The travellers were hailed at the roughly-defined border of Tuckborough by a group of hobbits including half a dozen of Bilbo’s cousins on sturdy ponies.

“That would Adalgrim and the others,” Bilbo said as he waved at the riders. They appeared more high-spirited than the folk of Hobbiton. “Welcoming committee looks properly warmed up by now.”

“They were expecting us?” Thorin eyed the smaller group of hobbits that peeled off from the mass of riders and headed in their direction.

“Ah, you see, there might have been a few misunderstandings if you had turned up with all those weapons unannounced.” Bilbo tucked his fingers into his waistband and grinned. “So I had Adalgrim ride back with the news yesterday after tea at Tansy’s--it saved me the trouble of having to find a messenger.”

Bilbo’s cousin hailed them cheerfully as they came up alongside the column of travellers. “You’re late for lunch but in time for tea--is this all of you now?” 

The dwarf contingent was much reduced after a third of them had returned to Ered Luin and a number of others had gone to seek supplies for the settlement. “I hope you were not expecting more of us,” Thorin said, looking back at the convoy behind him. “It was a job and a half getting them this far.”

“Oh it’s just that everyone’s excited to meet you, Master Oakenshield--though in my Aunt Florina’s case it’s because she’s looking for someone to redesign her stove,” Adalgrim said, doffing his hat and bowing a little in the saddle. “The thing’s been smoking for ages and everyone agrees that it needs to go.” 

“But she’s _picky_ ,” Belladonna murmured.

“So very picky,”” Adalgrim echoed with a slight grimace. “Most of the others are just excited to meet Bilbo’s friends.”

As it turned out, the dwarves that had followed Thorin to Tuckborough were the more sociable merchants and craftsmen. They were also more comfortable around hobbits and were, unsurprisingly, mostly on friendly terms with Bilbo. Many of them had positive remarks about the fields and gardens around the large mound of Great Smials.

Adalgrim's party led them to a wide grassy meadow just off the main road and east of the entrance to Great Smials, the largest hobbit dwelling for miles.

"Plenty of room for your wagons and tents," Adalgrim announced. "Though if you don't mind squeezing, we could air out the guest rooms--we've got a few spare hobbit holes that aren't in use."

"Our thanks, Master Took," Dís said, inclining her head. "Your family’s holdings are extensive."

Adalgrim looked slightly embarrassed at this. "Oh no, those are just the annexes--they get used whenever the extended family visits or when the clan grows larger by another family.”

“Speaking of my wife’s family, here they come now,” Bungo said with the air of a hobbit bracing himself for whatever came next. 

The Tooks of Tuckborough had come out in force to welcome them. There were at least a dozen small faces clustered at each of the larger windows and more than a score of adults pouring out of the main doors.

“Belladonna!” The hobbit that rushed out ahead of the others was older than the Bilbo’s parents but the familial resemblance to Mistress Baggins was obvious. 

“Isengrim, I need to introduce you to Thorin Oakenshield of Ered Luin,” Mistress Baggins said after embracing her kinsman. “My brother Isengrim Took, Thain of the Shire.” 

“My sister’s friends and my nephew’s friends are most welcome,” the Thain said, turning his bright yet searching gaze on the assembled dwarves. “I trust I don’t have to ask anyone for promises of good conduct, Master Oakenshield.”

 _Let’s not mentioned Nori_ Dís signed and Thorin could see his sister-sons going stiff as they fought to keep their faces straight. Nori was being kept busy at the moment with the procurement of Dori’s supplies, fortunately.

The Thain--Isengrim III--appeared to be a canny enough leader for all that he looked like an average hobbit with some ink stains on his cuffs. The hobbits had held themselves back and only rushed forward to greet the Bagginses after Isengrim had looked them over and given his unspoken assent to the presence of some forty dwarves on his front lawn.

Tooks were not exactly the respectable sort and they proved how different they were from the hobbits of Hobbiton by dragging out casks of cider and having an impromptu welcoming party right there.

“I think I like this side of Bilbo’s family,” Dís said after making sure her offspring helped with the distribution of cider before helping themselves.

“Very kind of you, Mistress,” Isengrim said over the lip of his own tankard. “Some hobbits find us strange and a bit wild.”

“You seem perfectly civil to us. And you’ve invited us to stay right here,” Dís remarked as a pair of young dwarrows ran past with a gaggle of hobbit children, all of them intent on yelling in excitement until they exhausted themselves. 

“That’s on account of young Bilbo telling us you were coming,” the Thain informed them forthrightly. “We’ve had a watch on you since you crossed the main road--it beats not knowing where some forty dwarves are in your backyard. Better to have you all where we can see you. No offense meant.”

“None taken,” Thorin muttered, for he knew that he would have done the same thing and would not have included a welcome drink for large mobs of unknown travellers in his lands. The hobbits might seem carefree and naïve, but it was good to see that some were on guard.

“Cheers then,” Bilbo said, coming back to them after getting thumped on the back and hugged by a plethora of cousins. “Here’s to another good day and don’t let my uncle sweet-talk you into giving the best price with his admittedly very good cider.”

“I can’t help but try,” Isengrim said with a grin. “Bilbo, I thought you were on our side.”

His nephew answered with a toothy smile of his own. “Now I’m also on their side because I have to winter under a great big mountain. You’ll pardon me for bringing you people that can actually sort out Aunt Florina’s stove.”

The affectionate ribbing that the hobbits engaged in amused the dwarves to no end. Thorin caught Fíli and Kíli staring at him, no doubt surprised to see their uncle looking nostalgic while leaning against a cider barrel. 

“I’m parched from all the walking,” he said, just managing to stop himself from barking reflexively at them. Thorin softened his tone. “We had good times like this too. Should have more of them more often.” 

This admission was enough to strike his sister-sons speechless for a while. The ceaseless chatter of the Tooks filled in for any silences almost until teatime.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	14. The Great Place of the Tooks

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“. . . And these are the herb gardens. Still run by Bryony?” Belladonna had taken it upon herself to guide the guests around Great Smials. Her brother the Thain knew better than to stand in her way and got busy with doing the useful things like assigning people to tell the dwarves where the wells and pumps were and where they could dig their lavatories.

“Yes, Aunt Bella,” Adalgrim confirmed. He and his cousin Fortinbras were on hand to assist. They had grown so tall and handsome--a bit more solemn as well in Adalgrim’s case. The passing of her father, the Old Took, had meant that he was one step closer to the Thainship--a title that they held with very little possessive love for the office itself or the minor responsibilities that came along with it. The Tooks held the Thainship because they were willing to look beyond the borders and defend themselves vigorously if necessary.

Fortinbras’ sober demeanour could also be attributed to his wife though. A Clayhanger from East Farthing, Lalia was headstrong and stubborn enough to give a Took pause. She was unofficially head housekeeper of Great Smials and most of the Tooks were glad that she and Fortinbras had their own annex, a particularly fetching smial on the north side of the estate. Being Lalia’s husband was a full-time job and Fortinbras would be ready to deal with just about anything in a few years’ time. Better than that Bracegirdle girl from Hardbottle that Otho Sackville-Baggins had got himself affianced to any day though.

Belladonna glanced back at where Fortinbras was walking along with little Ferumbras toddling beside him. The older hobbit nodded approvingly at whatever his son brought him from the surrounding shrubbery, the very image of indulgent fatherhood. It also meant that Belladonna was a grandaunt. She had to stop overindulging her grandnephews and grandnieces sometimes, she thought a tad guiltily. Bungo had paid the toymaker dwarves to cart over the gifts that she had purchased for them because there were so many of them.

Looking at her plump and usually mild-mannered husband, Belladonna felt a fond smile cross her face. Bungo was probably tired out after the trek in the morning, but he had drank two pints of cider and was gallantly putting a brave face on in front of her family and the dwarves as he squired her around Great Smials. Holding hands like youngsters too, for they were amongst her rambling and rather wild family that honestly could not care less about appearances. Said family was probably poking at the dwarves with their habitual curiosity or following them around as they toured the grounds.

The holiday mood was infectious. Belladonna could see Bilbo pointing out local landmarks to Thorin with his left hand and holding the dwarf’s hand with his right. The dwarves had kept their boots on, but they seemed to have relaxed a little more after the cider.

“You’re pleased to be back,” Bungo said, squeezing her hand gently as they strolled through the herb gardens. Some of the plants were optimistically putting out green leaves. The Shire’s mild climes were usually kind to the hobbits living within its borders.

“It’s almost three years since Dad passed.” Belladonna saw the signs of new life as something positive. Spring always had that effect on most hobbits and she was no exception. “And I’m always glad to come back to poke my nose into my brother’s business.”

“Isengrim looks like he’s got everything under control.” Bungo was always so diplomatic about her family even when Isengrim had his hands full with everyone and Lalia Clayhanger on top of it all.

“Yes, but I told you what Dad said to us all when he passed.” Lowering her voice, Belladonna continued along the path as they drew away from the main group gradually. “We’re trying to prepare for it, but Dad’s advice was so _vague_.”

Three years ago, the Old Took had managed to outdo his ancestors in sheer Tookishness while on his last legs. Which was only outdone by the fact that no-one really understood what he had been going on about.

_“I don’t know if it’s my age or my eyes, but the world seems to be growing darker . . . Isengrim, Hildigrim, Isembold, Bella, come closer, all of you--I fear . . . I fear that dark times lie ahead.” The Old Took had spent the last decade of his life within his suite of rooms, but in those last few weeks, Gerontius had ordered his bed carried out to the Great Hall so that he could see all his children and their families. “Remember our duty . . . Prepare yourselves . . .”_

Gerontius had passed not five days after that particular cryptic warning. It had left his heir and current Thain of the Shire in a pickle. The gift of prophecy had never been mentioned in all of hobbit history and the Old Took’s words were of no help. What in Arda were they supposed to be on the look-out for? Isengrim did not know if he ought to consult with the Brandybucks and the Mayor of the Shire for they had nothing to go on besides the ramblings of the oldest hobbit that had ever lived. The family had to mourn their patriarch while trying to puzzle out his last warning and come up with some sort of plan of action. Long-term plans were not a forte of the Tooks.

It had been Bungo that had said to her, some weeks after the funeral, that they ought to ask someone with more knowledge of the world outside--someone like the wandering Wizard. Gandalf was a close acquaintance of the Tooks and known to be a friend of hobbits in general after the catastrophe that was known as the Fell Winter.

Belladonna had resolved to question Gandalf about it the next time the Wizard passed through the Shire or if one of their messages finally found its way to him, but now she had another option. Her son, her own Bilbo was heading for Bree and perhaps further into the lands beyond. While she was in the Shire with Bungo and the rest of her family, Bilbo could keep his ears open while on the road. And if he found the old Wizard first, then he could get her message to him.

There was a risk, of course. Hildifons had never come back from his wandering. They were still optimistically hoping that he was alive and well somewhere. Not like poor Hildegard.

That did mean telling Bilbo about it before he left. Belladonna had not breathed a word to anyone outside her family about it other than Bungo. The Tooks had a certain reputation and all the wealth they had would not be worth a single brass button if they could not defend the Shire in a crisis. The majority of the hobbits of the Shire were not going to believe them because the Old Took had given the vaguest of warnings before he passed.

Bungo had barely got over the fact that Bilbo was alive and well when Belladonna had proposed the idea to him. They had one of their serious rows while Bilbo was spending an evening with the dwarves. Fortunately, Bungo had a policy of never going to bed angry or with an unresolved argument.

He was also an intelligent hobbit and did not treat his wife’s concerns lightly. It had been why Belladonna had married him--in addition to his many other good points and rather endearing eccentricities, of course.

As Bilbo was his own hobbit now and it appeared that he would follow his dwarves on their journey through Eriador, Bungo eventually conceded that their son could handle one additional, somewhat vital mission while travelling outside the Shire.

Isengrim would speak with Bilbo that night to impress upon him the importance of this new errand. Belladonna suspected that Bilbo would agree to it eventually. Knowing her son, she suspected that he would benefit from having a sense of purpose to work towards. Bilbo would never be entirely satisfied with his life as a gentle-hobbit of means. He had matured extremely well in the months after leaving the Shire. It had surprised most hobbits, but not Belladonna--she knew that Tooks were never at their best unless they had a few obstacles to fight past or climb over.

By the look of it, Bilbo had inherited more than a fair share of his mother’s nature after all.

“Adalgrim, Fortinbras--will you see if tea is ready?” Belladonna asked her nephews. Bungo and the others looked peckish, but were probably too polite to say. 

“But of course, Aunt Bella.” If they were dreading having to ask Lalia about it, they did not show it. 

“Come along, Ferumbras, let’s see what your mother’s got for tea.” Lalia was more likely to be pleasant when her son was present.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While Thorin had known that Bilbo was the son of wealthy landlord of Hobbiton, it was quite another thing to confront the rest of his family and realise that he had run off with the current Thain’s nephew and the Master of Buckland’s nephew. Ceremonial titles, for the most part, but they were still officials of the Shire. No dwarf lord would have shrugged and laughed over such a matter with a pint of cider in hand if it had been their offspring involved. Hobbits were strange indeed and the Tooks appeared to be more open-minded than most.

But Thorin was not particularly worried about the hobbits after arriving at Great Smials.

No, the _dwarves_ were more impressed by the wealth of the Tooks. Some of them were beginning to look at Thorin shrewdly and he honestly wanted to yell at them that _no, he absolutely did not know that he had run off with a landlord’s heir and he had no idea that the Tooks were one of the richest families around!_

The worst part was hearing it from his own family.

 _“Will wonders ever cease?”_ Dís looked at her brother speculatively as they settled into a smial reserved for their use that evening. It was a snug place, outfitted with the simplest of furniture and fortunately devoid of fussy bric-a-brac. The sensation of being partially underground, even this close to the surface, made them feel more at home. Most dwarves were conversing in their own tongue--a habit they fell back into every time they were in a strange place with non-dwarves nearby. _“If I did not know any better, I would have said that you had selected Bilbo Baggins out of all the hobbits in the Shire for his useful connections.”_

 _“But you do know better, little sister,”_ Thorin said neutrally while trying to keep a lid on his temper and get the fire going at the same time. Dís had married for love and reaped the heartbreak of losing her husband, but she had never once regretted it. _“If we still ruled in Erebor, you and I would not have had the freedom of choice.”_

It was one of the only positive things they had. They could always blame Frerin for it. Frerin was always the one who was saying _we should think about the positive side of things_ or _we didn’t get punished too badly for that scrape_.

 _“Oh you and your sudden bursts of reason,”_ Dís said fondly. She had noticed the melancholy in his bearing as well. _“The anniversary is near. You might want to tell Bilbo why you’ll be unbearable and mopey in a few weeks’ time.”_

 _“I may be socially lacking, but I am not thick,”_ Thorin said, ignoring his sister’s soft snort of derision. 

_“My boys may have taken that title from you temporarily,”_ she began. But she had to stop when Thorin started to work the fireplace bellows vigorously--this usually sent her parchment and papers flying and she had to scramble to catch them. There was a scattering of furniture left in the room and Dís spent a few moments hunting under the chairs for documents. Cursing all the while in language that would make her sons turn pale too. 

_“I am still the only one who can stop you in the middle of a rant,”_ Thorin said mildly. It was rare for him to tease his sister when they had both been children, but he had given as good as he got on those occasions, princely dignity be damned.

 _“Through unfair and unorthodox means,”_ his sister glowered.

 _“You_ did _say we needed to be pragmatic and more imaginative to make it through this year.”_ For just a moment, they were young again and sniping at each other just because they were siblings and it was something that siblings did while in close proximity. To be fair, it had never reached the heights of the Fundinsons’ verbal and physical battles, but Dwalin and Balin were competitive in addition to being frighteningly competent in their respective fields. Thorin was just glad that that competitiveness had never been directed his way beyond Dwalin trying to throw him.

_“Your tongue’s grown a fork down the middle--Balin will be pleased.”_

_“I’d rather not be seen as a sly-tongued charmer of rich hobbits,”_ Thorin protested.

 _“Oh-ho, this entire situation has painted you as the villain of the piece, hasn’t it?”_ Dís left off teasing her brother because he was being dead serious. _“Thorin, Bilbo knows you didn’t let him go with you for the depth of his pockets--”_

 _“Why in all of Mahal’s creation does everything you say come out sounding like a sexual innuendo?”_ Thorin groaned.

 _“Because you want to be with him,”_ his sister said relentlessly. _“And you want to do it often. But you feel guilty that you can’t offer him anything other than a dusty ruin and too many nosy relatives--not that he has a shortage in that department. And he’s so young and sheltered and naïve--”_

 _“Dís! You’re not helping!”_ Thorin actually buried his face in his hands.

_"Bilbo knows. And we know better than that lot--they're probably dreaming about long-term contracts."_

_"We already have a standing long-term contract do repairs at the Green Dragon Inn before winter,"_ Thorin sighed, recalling the thick vellum scrolls on which the scribes wrote the contracts for the smiths of Erebor. _"That's the kind of long-term contract that hobbits are willing to go for. They're not going to want a shipment of weaponry for wheat and grain on a yearly basis. And we haven’t got jewels to offer to the ones who actually want necklaces and rings."_

 _"They'll be disappointed, so we've got to manage expectations. Very soon. In fact, as soon as possible,"_ Dís said, _"before any serious haggling can take place."_

This was probably because an elderly hobbit lady had approached Bifur when he was crafting a delicate wooden bird with wings that could move and offered two jars of honey for it. The Tooks had an interesting approach to commerce. They were well-off, but they saw absolutely nothing odd about trading a bottle of wine for a new watch chain. If they liked something, they were probably going to ask for it straight off the bat.

Bifur had just said something to the hobbit in an old dialect of Khuzdul that hardly anyone used nowadays and accepted the trade, gently showing her how to work the mechanism before handing the bird over. That had probably opened the floodgates and Thorin had to insist that any trading take place the next day at a decent hour least they be caught unprepared.

Bombur, the happy recipient of this first trade, was overjoyed and promised that they would have pancakes for breakfast. Alas, the cannier merchants would not be satisfied with just a good breakfast, Thorin thought as he dug into a steaming stack of golden cakes early the next day--a most delicious breakfast that provided the ballast for the rest of the morning as he worked to temper expectations.

Thorin need not have worried about Bilbo’s extended family. The Tooks and their extended family were voluble and single-minded. Some dwarves were discovering that a Took wanting a set of cutlery for a wedding gift was not going to be swayed into a conversation about wholesale light fixtures. They also found out that trying to pin down Thain Isengrim was practically impossible. The elderly hobbit stomped about with his cane and never stayed long enough in one place to be pinned down. It was probably some hobbit trick for evading unwanted relatives.

With hobbits streaming in from the rest of Tuckborough, there was enough of a crowd to get lost in anyway. The Tooks had many tenants and neighbours, a good many of them curious about dwarves and getting a good bargain to boot.

Dís took charge of any contract work and wrote copious receipts at the table they dragged out to the field where the craft stalls were set up. By the number of hinges and axles that needed replacing, they would have to be camped here for at least three days in order to finish all the commissions. And the hobbits thought that they were working really fast too.

“Oh, that’s really convenient. No need to rush on our account.”

“Done by tomorrow? Well, that’s a lot faster than we expected. If you’re sure then . . .”

“You can get it done in three hours? Extraordinary!”

It would have been difficult for a single smith to deal with all the orders of hinges and new plough shears, but a team of dwarrow craftmasters could work wonders in a very short time. Given a proper workshop, they would have had everything done in half the time.

But this was not Erebor and all they had to work with was whatever was on hand. There was farrier working in Tuckborough and another small smithy for passing blacksmiths. Some dwarves had brought their own portable anvils--an innovation forced by their reduced circumstances--so there was less friction involved all around.

Thorin managed to settle a couple of disputes before lunchtime and warned off anyone that looked as though they might be vying for custom outside their specialisation. Many craftmasters had learned and practiced disciplines outside their chosen field in order to survive. To diffuse potential arguments in the making, Dís and Thorin had stipulated that everyone should work within the boundaries of their own craft unless there was an urgent demand for certain skills.

Currently, urgent demands were being made in the areas of cutlery, metalwork and repairs. Dís sorted everyone out so that they would grumble about how autocratic the royal siblings were being and get on with it without too much fuss.

It left Thorin free after lunch to oversee his sister sons at the archery butts. For some reason, Bilbo’s cousins--Adalgrim and Fortinbras--had wanted to see what dwarrow arrows could do.

Thorin suspected that he met the Thain on the slope overlooking the archery field because he wanted to be found. From the way Isengrim popped up right next to Thorin, there was little doubt that he wanted to speak to him.

“Good morning,” Thain Isengrim hailed him. “Your nephews are going to give us a good show, eh?”

“We can only hope.” Thorin pointed out his sister sons to the Thain. “That’s the pair of them over there.”

“Oh and it seems that Bryony and Senna are flirting with them--sorry about that,” Isengrim said apologetically. 

“Or they could just be trying to have a friendly competition.” The young hobbit ladies looked like they were challenging his sister sons to a round at the archery butts.

“That’s sort of the same thing with Bryony and Senna,” Isengrim said with a wry smile. “My brother Isembold’s daughters--a bit forward, but they’re harmless and generally mean well.”

The Misses Took were proving that they were not all that harmless with a bow. Not quite up to the level of a trained warrior, but better than what Thorin expected from a pair of young hobbits in patterned frocks.

Thorin searched for something else to say as his sister sons took aim and did their best to do him proud. “Do you have any children?”

“Afraid not. Just wasn’t meant to be, I suppose.”

"Do you have a wife?"

“She passed on a few years ago.”

Thorin groaned inwardly for not finding out more about this side of his family from Bilbo first. He was not the best at casual conversation. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It was her time," the Thain said philosophically. "As I've got no children, my nephews and nieces are dear to me. Bilbo's a good lad."

 _Ah, here it was_ , Thorin thought. The Talk he had been anticipating was nigh. Down in the field, Fíli and Kíli acquitted themselves well and received a round of applause from the gathering crowd of onlookers.

"A bit prone to daydreaming but quite sharp with accounts--that's the Baggins in him."

"And the Took side?" Thorin noticed that Bilbo had arrived on the scene with his cousins.

"Oh I reckon you've seen what he got from our side of the family," Isengrim said knowingly. "They say that one of our ancestors married a fairy and that's why we all turned out a bit wild . . ."

Thorin could sense the "but" coming from a mile off.

"But sometimes a pretty story is just a pretty story. A Took has no special magic to protect them when they take off to go roaming. Except their wits, of course." Isengrim glanced at where Bilbo’s cousins had demonstrated that they were no slouches when it came to accuracy with a bow, looking nostalgic. "Now Bilbo, as you might have noticed, was not trained like Adalgrim and Fortinbras . . ."

"I was told that there was no tradition for training warriors," Thorin said cautiously as Bilbo looked dubiously at the bow that his cousins had passed him. "We did promise to keep Bilbo safe."

“Was that a royal 'we'?” Isengrim asked and Thorin's eyes turned immediately to where Bilbo stood with his cousins. “Now, now, Bilbo never said a word to us about it, but you can't fault a Took for being curious when his nephew runs off with a dwarf. We asked around Bree and beyond because a name like that sticks in the mind.”

The sobriquet he had earned on the stony ground of Azanulbizar had settled over him like a well-fitted chainmail-shirt and he had been glad to have it as a reminder of that terrible battle. Unfortunately, it had given the orcs a name to put on their bounties as well.

"I think we were quite surprised when we found out what that name was associated with. Bella confirmed it." The Thain pulled out his pipe and polished the bowl against his waistcoat. “Now you and your people have a tradition of training warriors—Bilbo may need some of that, despite his pacifist nature.”

Thorin recalled Bilbo’s willingness to cast aside his peaceful nature in defence of his person. “It would be our honour to accommodate him,” Thorin said, trying to hide his surprise at the direction the conversation had taken. “But I think he should also master some of the skills his cousins are demonstrating.”

“He’s got good aim, hasn’t he?” Thain Isengrim looked proudly at his nephews and Thorin realised that he had been informed about that particular incident with the bandits. “Adalgrim and Fortinbras will equip him with a sling at the very least before he leaves.”

Thorin could ask one of the fighters to impart a few moves that could successfully equalise any differences in strength and reach that were likely to come up, but he did hope that Bilbo did not have to engage in hand-to-hand combat. Realistically speaking, any journey through Eriador right now was fraught with peril and learning some form of self-defence would be necessary.

Of course, that was not the only surprise the Thain had for him that day. “That brings us to another matter. You have a number of weapon-smiths with you, correct?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo blinked at his uncle. “I’m sorry, but Grandpa Gerontius said _what_?”

In his uncle’s study, surrounded by his mother’s siblings and his adult cousins, Bilbo was nonetheless more than a little bewildered by this “family meeting”. He had thought that they were about to interrogate him about the dwarves when he had been pulled aside just after saying goodnight to Thorin. It turned out that they had another sort of interrogation in mind. One that would take place after he returned to the Shire. 

His uncle Isengrim, usually a chipper fellow, looked weighed down by his age in the light of the many lamps that lit the study. “That there were dark times ahead and we had to be ready. That’s all he said.”

“That’s . . . really unhelpful,” Bilbo said and it was clear that his elders felt the same. The Bilbo of the previous year might have been flabbergasted by this request, but the Bilbo to today merely wanted to know what needed doing and by when.

“Be as it may, it can’t hurt to make a few more plans. It’s not exactly our thing, but we tried.” Isengrim held his hand up and ticked off the things that they had done. “The old tunnels have been cleared, we’ve mapped the secret entrances, the infirmary’s been restocked, as has the fifth pantry just off the west corridor. Adalgrim and Fortinbras have been waylaying elves--”

“As much as you can waylay an elf,” his cousin Adalgrim murmured. “They’ve got _very_ good hearing.”

“--and passing them messages meant for Gandalf if he happens to be passing through their enclaves,” Isengrim continued. “Your cousins have been rambling further--”

“And drinking in more pubs,” Fortinbras said, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. His parents frowned at him, probably because they wished that he was home most of the time to distract Lalia.

“--to get news from outside the Shire. But there’s very little of note in the watering holes from here to Breeland. We got wind of the bandits in the north from the Rangers--good job there by the way. You’ll have to describe that fight in detail later.” His uncle slapped him fondly on the back and the other Tooks nodded, intensely proud that Bilbo had held his own in a fight. “What we need _now_ is someone heading out further than Bree. . .” 

“That would be you, coz,” Adalgrim chipped in helpfully.

“And _what_ precisely is it you want me to listen out for?” While Bilbo was flattered that his mother’s family was entirely behind him going on a journey beyond the borders of the Shire and carrying out what might be an important mission, the lack of any pertinent details did not fill him with confidence.

“We don’t know.” His mother, always front and centre in such discussions despite being younger than the Thain by two decades, was also famously blunt. “So we’re not going to ask you to look for trouble--not more trouble than you can normally find out there anyway. Just be yourself.”

“Your very observant self,” Isengrim added. “Your cousins have offered to give you lessons in self-defence as well.”

“Though we honestly hope that that won’t be necessary,” Bungo muttered from the corner where he was smoking his pipe. Bilbo leaving the Shire again--this time in another direction--had not sat well with him at all, but he had accepted it grudgingly as a part of his son’s new life.

“Well, I--”

“You impressed your dwarves with your aim, didn’t you?” Adalgrim asked eagerly. “They’ll be really impressed if you could use a sling or bow.”

Even in his wildest daydreams, Bilbo was certain that he was no warrior like Dwalin and Balin. “Um, just the self-defence would be enough . . . The lads--that’s Fili and Kili--have offered . . .”

“Take your time, Bilbo.” Isengrim patted him on the shoulder in a comradely manner. “Do whatever you’re comfortable with or whatever’s necessary.”

"I'll try my best," he said, not very optimistic about finding anything relevant. How would he know what could affect the Shire from the outside? Bilbo knew that he needed more perspective on this--probably a consultation with Nori and Dis. Leaving the Shire and living with Dwarves had made him confront the fact that he knew very little about them. He knew a little more now but was still quite ignorant about Big Folk. Elves, he looked forward to meeting, orcs and goblins much less. Aside from the farmers on the border of the Shire, Bilbo did not know many Men. 

"That's all we can ask of you. You reckon your dwarf friends can supply us with a few specific things before they leave?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a clear, relatively flat sward on the south eastern corner of the Took estate. The archery butts were set up at the far end and a flag system to signal when the targets were in use.

Fíli and Kíli examined the archery range and found that it was sheltered from the wind due to its convenient location. A low hill to the west and another one to the east diverted most of the air currents. 

Since a weaponry rack had been placed out in the open, they had a look at the hobbits' equipment first. The bows were made for users with less upper body strength. Wooden shafts with fire-hardened tips--nasty things if they got you. The infection the splinters caused were more damaging than the initial physical damage. 

“It’s not much, but we’re a long way from the days of fighting goblins.” The familiar voice belonged to one of a pair of young hobbit ladies.

"Hi again," Fíli responded with a bright smile. They remembered the girls from Bilbo's party--the Misses Bryony and Senna Took.

"Going to show us some of your shooting skills today?" Bryony asked. They had been quite straightforward at the party as well.

“We humbly hope to impress.”

"Then you don't mind if we join in." Without waiting for anyone's approval, they selected bows from the rack and chose three arrows apiece, each marked with a dab of paint along the shaft for easy recognition.

“I think we’re being challenged,” Kíli said, nudging his brother good-naturedly. A small gathering of curious bystanders was starting to form up around them.

“We’ll try not to lose too badly.” Senna took aim and managed to hit the second ring on her first try. Her next two arrows gradually inched toward the centre ring and the dwarves applauded her efforts.

Bryony did slightly better, managing to get her third arrow right on the line that delineated the centre ring. Fíli, not as proficient as his brother with the bow, put his all arrows in the centre ring and got a round of semi-envious and semi-awed gasps from the ladies. Remembering not to show off too much, Kíli did not try to split his arrows and got all three clustered close together in the centre.

“We’ve been practicing for a while,” Kíli said modestly.

“We’ve been practicing for most of our lives, is what my brother meant to say,” Fíli clarified. “So it’s hardly fair. But you’ve obviously had some training.”

“We can go for archery lessons once our chores are done,” Senna chimed in.

“A bit more practice and they’ll be at the top of the class too.” Bilbo’s cousin, the one that visited the settlement at Ered Luin, Adalgrim Took, grinned affably at everyone as he and Fortinbras strolled over with Bilbo. They carried their own bows--personal weapons and not communal property. “Senna and Bryony here are some of our best shots.”

“Better with a sling most of the time though. Adders, it’s your turn after Fíli and Kíli--we're on the second round now.”

“Oh no, you should go first,” Fíli said, mindful of courtesies and everything their mother had taught him about how to behave while at someone else’s mountain--or hill in this case.

“Don’t mind if we do. Senna, Bryony, you should see how much closer you’ve got to the centre now.” Fortinbras raised the red flag with a large cross on it to signal that no shafts were to be loosened while the ladies went to collect their arrows and compare their results.

"They’re doing well and improving all the time--our aunt Belladonna could hit a moving target nine times out of ten," Adalgrim said as he strung his bow. "Record was ten out of ten moving targets by the Bullroarer in his prime."

“What do you shoot now?” Fíli asked out of curiosity. The Shire had always appeared so safe and idyllic.

"The odd rabbit or peasant--though we had wolves on the borders and once in the Shire. Persistent buggers." Fortinbras passed over a quiver of arrows. "Takes several arrows to down a hungry wolf though."

“You need broader arrow heads for that,” Fíli said, remembering the story Bilbo had told them about the Fell Winter. Wolves had managed to get all the way to Hobbiton and it had not been pleasant. The brothers’ experience guarding the tail end of a caravan had taught them that while most wolves would avoid a large group of dwarves, a few hungry ones might sulk around waiting to pick off someone slower and weaker.

"Broader arrow heads are correspondingly heavier--we’d like slimmer ones," Adalgrim said after examining their arrows. “These are all right. Just one in the right place would do it.”

The ladies came back with their arrows and the flag was lowered for the next round of shooting. 

Adalgrim stepped up in a business-like manner and fired off three arrows in quick succession. He hit the painted centre circle each time--they might have underestimated the skill of these hobbits. Kili recalled that these were the cousins Bilbo had said he had learned a thing or two about throwing pebbles.

Fortinbras managed to replicate his cousin’s results and then it was Fíli and Kíli’s turn again.

Kili took aim carefully, feeling that he had to prove himself now. His arrow flew through the relatively still air and thudded into the target with a satisfying _thunk_.

“That’s impressive,” Fortinbras commented when they went over to the targets to see how they had fared in comparison. Kíli’s arrows formed the tightest cluster, barely an inch wide across.

"Your bow's got more power than ours--try it from ten paces back?" The Misses Took looked more interested in the distance his arrows could cover now.

Bilbo was talked into giving it a go as well. He laughed when he missed the target completely on his first try and shook his head, saying that archery was not his forte.

Adalgrim was undaunted. “Practice will do wonders, coz.”

The Thain—Isengrim--had come out to watch them. At that moment, he was speaking to Thorin. After the impromptu archery display and proving that they could reach the target from further away, Thorin called the weapon-smiths over for a discussion on the merits of dwarven arrows and bows. Despite their relative youth, Fíli and Kíli were included along with masters like Nerís Five-swords and Hrolf Iron-bow for they had specialised in weapons forging and using them. 

“We can’t manage your bows though.” Fortinbras indicated the ones he and his cousin were holding. “But if you can improve the range on ours, we’ll buy one for each adult.”

The brothers glanced at each other. Now _that_ was interesting. As far as they had seen, the hobbits were a peaceful lot. But then again, Bilbo had been peaceful all the way until he tried to blind a pair of bandit with rocks.

Wanting better bows was obviously a sensible decision. The dwarves all nodded when the topic of steel arrowheads was brought up. If they had to face another Fell Winter, the hobbits would be better off with arrows that could kill opportunistic predators faster.

“We have something in mind here.” Adalgrim passed over a long, narrow wooden case to his uncle the Thain.

"Now _this_ arrow’s a bit of an heirloom--proper antique, dating back to the time of the Bullroarer," Isengrim said, uncovering the contents of the case carefully. “Back when we fought in the Goblin Wars.”

Five-swords took the case with equal care and examined the arrowhead and shaft that lay within. "Good workmanship. Arrowhead's barely tarnished. We can measure the shaft and replicate the length." She looked to Isengrim. "The composition of the metal we can determine with a bit o’ trial and error, if y'don't mind us takin’ this fer reference."

Thain Isengrim assured the dwarves that it was perfectly all right so long as they got it back in the same condition for their private museum. The craftmasters looked pleased at the prospect of another sale and to people that actually appreciated their work as well. 

“These arrows then, could you do two hundred of them before you're on your way?” Isengrim asked in all seriousness. “And perhaps a few other items as well?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This way--mind the step now,” Adalgrim cautioned. Fortinbras had pushed aside the wine rack that shielded the gap from view and allowed them all to pass through.

His cousins had taken Bilbo to see the old tunnels in the afternoon. It was not the first time that the cousins had been down that way, Bilbo recalled. 

Bilbo had been young and easily impressed back then while Adalgrim was a tween who was too old to play hide and go seek in the hedgerows. Fortinbras was of age by that time and sobered by the knowledge that their uncle Isengrim was probably not going to have any children or heirs.

They had played at being explorers in the labyrinth of the old tunnels that lay deep below the wine cellars. Fortinbras had been left behind to catalogue the Old Winyards for the Thain their grandfather while Adalgrim had command of the lantern and a small troop of cousins. To a fauntling, the tunnels had seemed deep and mysterious--a whole new world to discover in the company of his favourite cousin.

In the present day, Adalgrim still held the lantern and Fortinbras had a map of the tunnels he was still working on. By the lantern’s dim glow, Bilbo saw that the tunnels were quite ordinary passages that twisted away into the depths of the earth. Any trepidation he had about deep tunnels had been long dispelled by his time in Ered Luin. He also realised that they were an excellent emergency hiding place.

“Do the tunnels lead outside?”

“Yes--right out by that copse of trees near the Hardy’s farm. It’s clear all the way through now--except for this gate here,” Fortinbras replied, confirming Bilbo’s suspicion that the tunnels were also an escape route. They had arrived at a metal gate roughly around halfway along the length of the tunnel if Bilbo’s estimations were correct.

“We’re getting a proper lock from the dwarves for it,” Adalgrim said, indicating the chain and padlock that was currently holding the gate closed. This was high security in a place where neighbours seldom locked their doors on market day.

Beyond the gate, the passage way branched out into several tunnels, some of them just wide enough for a hobbit to slip through. Bilbo could appreciate the need for such tunnels now after his time under the mountain. He was even more impressed by the small series of chambers that they came to. Adalgrim’s lantern revealed neat stacks of crates and barrels of what looked like provisions.

“We’re keeping some of the stores in here--gets everyone familiar with the layout every time they have to move something down.” Spreading out his map, Fortinbras pointed out the locations of key chambers and the nearest water supply. “Lamps and candles in here, dry goods in the next one and so on.”

“Including the pickles, I see,” Bilbo said. Or rather, he could _smell_ them from where he was standing.

“Lalia didn’t like having them in the fifth pantry,” Fortinbras sighed. “Though I completely understand when it’s pickled herring.”

“The pickled herring’s in a room of its own.” Adalgrim nodded down the corridor. “For everyone’s sake, really.”

“Sensible,” Bilbo agreed. “Is there another gate at the exit?”

“We’ve got a wooden one at the moment--give just a little more time and we’ll replace it with a steel gate.”

They were taking security _really_ seriously now.

“This place is becoming a right fortress,” Bilbo observed. It spoke whole volumes about how seriously they were taking this--the Tooks were not long-term planners by nature. “So you really believe that Grandpa Gerontius was on to something then?”

“We still remember the Fell Winter, so it’s not a bad thing to be prepared for the worst.” Rolling up his map, Fortinbras looked around the chamber thoughtfully before his gaze settled on Bilbo. “When I think about Ferumbras going through something like that, I get the chills all over again. Lalia would throw herself at any wolves that came in the door and give them grief--I don’t want it coming to that.”

They had a moment of silence as the memories of near starvation and sharp fangs in the night washed over them. Bilbo knew that his parents would have sacrificed themselves for him if Gandalf and his friends had not intervened just in time.

Now that they were grown, the responsibility to do everything they could to avoid such a catastrophe fell on them. Fortinbras was a father--they had just seen him tuck Ferumbras in for his afternoon nap--and a responsible leader now. Adalgrim was getting himself sorted out and courting Tansy. And Bilbo himself . . . well, he was about to go out into the world beyond the Shire’s borders with an important mission of his own.

“I hope no-one has to,” Bilbo said at last. “We probably should see about that sling now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I am hosting a small give-away over here for a fanbook I participated in: http://likescatsandthings.tumblr.com/post/112362505070/this-is-a-give-away-i-participated-in-a-hobbit
> 
> The give-away opt-in period ends on 15th March 2015 (that's about two weeks).
> 
> (Please don't follow that tumblr. Thanks.)


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